The Lost Heir
by moreaux
Summary: When attempting to propose to Pansy Parkinson in order to obtain an heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Malfoy is informed, much to his surprise, that there is, in fact, a rightful Malfoy heir already in existance... [DMHG]
1. Drunken Escapes

_**Disclaimer**: Rights to Harry Potter and subsequent characters and situations are held by J.K. Rowling and various publishing and entertainment companies, including but not limited to Warner Bros and Random House Inc._

**_Summary_**: _When attempting to propose to Pansy Parkinson in order to obtain an heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Malfoy is informed that there is, in fact, a rightful Malfoy heir already in existance... born by one Hermione Granger._

**Chapter one**

Hermione Granger stood inconspicuously in a slightly dilapidated corner of the Weasley home, drowning herself in magically-flowing champagne. She had to clench her one unoccupied hand to keep from gritting her teeth, and her cheeks were aching from the effort it took to keep even the slightest smile on her face.

"Hermione! Hermione Granger!" A voice called out over the bright music playing and the chatter of those amassed in the house. "Hermione, where are you?"

She closed her eyes for a brief second and let out an involuntary groan, having recognized the cheerful and slightly intoxicated voice that seeked her out. As heads began to turn her way, she forced a bright smile on her face and an eager tone into her voice. "Yes, Ron? Ron, where are you?"

There was a slight parting in the crowd that allowed her to catch a glimpse of the middle of the dance floor, where Ron and Harry were standing, draped over one another. "Come here!" Ron waved frantically to Hermione, who had no choice but to make her way over, squeezing through the mass of bodies crammed into the room.

"A picture with my two best friends!" Ron cried gleefully, pointing to a photographer, hired specifically for the event. "Mustn't forget this moment! Never thought I'd be the first to get married, sod it!" He shook out his still fiery hair before smoothing down the front of his dress robes in a rather controlled manner, surprising for the low tolerance he had for alcohol of any sort.

Harry grinned widely, standing just a little off-center. "Was that Hermione Granger I saw, downing glass after glass of champagne?" he chortled the second she reached the duo, dropping a heavy arm clad in bottle green, reminiscent of the Yule Ball back in fourth year- Merlin, had that really been nine years ago?- heavily about her shoulder.

"There, that's a good shot!" encouraged the photographer, moving a few centimetres to the left to capture Ron, who had a vacant look on his face. "Now, now, Mr. Weasley, smile! This is your wedding, after all."

"My wedding!" Ron marveled once more as he giggled, before draping an arm about Hermione's other shoulder. "Smile, this is going in my wedding album!"

Hermione flashed a vibrant smile to the camera before reverting back to the small fake one she had had on before. "Me? Champagne? Never," she fibbed to Harry who was still grinning at her. When she felt his arm slip around her waist, she sent him a quizzical look, wondering why he had done so. There hadn't ever been anything unplatonic between Harry and herself, despite the rumors. They were best friends, and nothing more. Ron, Hermione mused unhappily, on the other hand…

He laughed again. "Not drunk, hmm?" Harry loosened his hold on her and watched her sway for just a second, before recovering her balance.

"Nope." She insisted, but with a slight smile, secretly damning the telling flush that rose on her cheeks. She really hadn't wanted anyone to notice how much she had been drinking- not that anyone could get drunk off champagne, mind- but it was something that Hermione Granger did not do. Not, she thought, that it wasn't noticeable, with herself glowering at everyone in the corner. Of _course_ Harry would have noticed.

"Hermione, it's okay to drink now! We're of age, and it's one of our best friends' wedding! Who knew Ron would marry Luna, anyhow?" Harry exclaimed, conjuring up a glass of water for Hermione, whose face had gone rather red.

"Who indeed?" she muttered under her breath, hating herself for the bitter tone even as she spoke, before helping herself to the water, which served to clear her head just a bit.

Ron, who had only heard the last bit of Harry's question, jumped. "Luna? Luna!" He breathed, reverently. "Where is my Luna? Oh, Luna!" He turned away from his friends, searching throughout the people in his home. "Excuse me… must find my wife…" he trailed off as he trotted off to search for his newly-wedded wife, tugging on the collar of his robes.

Hermione couldn't help a small smile forming on her face, the first genuine smile of the evening. Ron had always been a happy drunk, ever since seventh year when he, Harry and Hermione had imbibed in too much Firewhisky to celebrate the end of the NEWTs, and Ron had…

She blinked, catching herself before she could embark on another trip down that road. What had occurred between Ron and herself was in the past, and nothing of the sort would ever be happening now that Ron was married, and…

Ron was married.

Hermione honestly couldn't believe it; Ron was married. _Ron_ was _married_- and what was more, he was married to someone that wasn't _her_. To Luna Lovegood, of all people, she thought in disgust and just a bit of sadness.

She closed her eyes again to try and avert the images of Ron and Luna, but succeeded in only increasing the vividness of her imagination- Ron kissing Luna, Ron embracing Luna, Ron in love with Luna…

Hermione looked up dazedly, having felt a tap on her shoulder that had broken her thoughts. Harry looked concerned, but with the concern of a slightly disinterested, slightly drunk man who was busy, in truth, with his own romances. "Hey, 'Mione, you okay?" he inquired.

She nodded vigorously, for it would not do to have Harry, and then Ron consequentially, find out about her secret- and absurd- feelings for her best friend. "I'm okay, just… you know. Too much excitement."

Harry grinned teasingly down at her. "I think you've had a bit more of something else than excitement, to tell you the truth. But it's—" he broke off when his eyes had caught something off in the distance. "Oh… Hermione, I've got to go, I think that's Ginny," he told her before rushing off to some unknown site.

Hermione sighed, before turning to leave. She had no reason to stay any longer and truth to tell, she'd done her duty as a faithful friend by simply showing up at this wedding—not that Ron would ever find out what an obstacle it had been for her. She hurried to the front entrance, _accio_-ing her cloak and grabbing one last glass of something stronger- a vodka and pumpkin juice, a strange fusion of the muggle and wizarding world- before leaving.

Once in the yard, which was lit up with something similar to the muggle Christmas lights and only slightly less crowded than the interior of the house with people socializing and holding drinks, Hermione apparated to the outside of her building, where she occupied a large flat with a roommate. The surroundings were calm and quiet though it was a Saturday night; the flat was located in a nice, normal neighborhood. She walked slowly inside and up the staircase, reflecting bitterly that, had she played her cards right from the beginning, the Weasley wedding would have been between Ron and herself. Furthermore, she would not be alone right now, but with the man she loved, Ron.

Hermione arrived in front of her door, silently cursing the anti-apparation wards that she herself had had insisted upon. While searching for her wand with one hand inside her robes, she scanned the message that Lavender had magicked in front of the door.

_H- _

_Gone to the new bar with S! Don't wait up for me (you know what that means! Don't worry, we'll use protection)._

_-L_

_P.S. Did you leave your wand or something? Why is it still in the kitchen? Whatever! Bye!_

She winced upon seeing it, now recalling quite clearly just where exactly her wand was situated- right in the middle of the kitchen counter. It was a sign of the level of her panic and dread at seeing Ron and Luna being married, as Hermione would have otherwise never, ever left the relative safety of her home without the ability to protect herself. Furthermore, she could hardly believe that she hadn't even noticed that her wand had been missing up until now!

There was only one thing for it; there was absolutely no way of entering the flat without her wand- Dumbledore had made certain of that. She'd have to go to _the bar_- whichever that was- find Lavender, and beg her to accompany her to the door of their suite. Lavender, of course, would be understandably irate, but there really wasn't any other option available.

With a sigh, Hermione leaned against the wall and tried to recall her roommate speaking of a certain bar that morning. Lavender had been ridiculously excited about her date with Seamus- that must be who S was- and she'd chattered about going out to… to… what _was_ the name of that place! Hermione had been so distracted with the prevailing thought of Ron's wedding, that she hadn't paid much attention to Lavender's gigglings. The bar… the name had been one of an old man, much like… Maximilian's, that was it! To Maximilian's, a new and extremely trendy bar located in the heart of muggle London.

Armed with this new information, Hermione quickly apparated to a side alley by the bar, hoping desperately that she wouldn't run into an unsuspecting muggle. Luckily the entire alley was clear, and she left for entrance to the bar.

Luck was with her again; because of the late hour, the usual line by the entrance was nonexistent, and Hermione was able to enter. Passing easily through the Age Line, she had to search through the crowded bar for a full ten minutes before she was able to see Lavender and Seamus, snuggled cozily in a corner booth. Although they appeared as if they were having a "moment," Hermione shouldered through and came to a stop perilously close to the table edge.

"Lavender!" She exclaimed, taking a breath. "And Seamus. Sorry to interrupt."

Her roommate blinked up at her, before shaking her head slightly. "Hermione? Did something happen?"

Hermione flushed slightly. "Um, nothing important, but I left my wand inside and locked myself out of the flat… and I was wondering if you could take me back, and open the door?" she ended hesitantly.

Seamus was nuzzling her neck as Lavender closed her eyes lightly. "Um," she managed to gasp out, "this _really_ isn't a good time, Hermione…"

She could see that. She really didn't want to interrupt them, but her bed was calling her… "I'll just… I'll just wait over there," Hermione hedged, pointing in the general direction of where the drinks were being served. "Just, you know. Hurry. Please." She had to squeeze her way to the actual bar, which was still crowded. Finally managing to procure a seat, she buried her head in her arms, trying to convince herself that she was happy for Lavender.

She really was happy for her roommate, of course, but it was a little difficult to watch a friend of hers in love, while she herself was utterly heartbroken.

In some sense, anyway.

Hermione shrugged, changing the track of her thoughts. There was no point in becoming utterly depressed over Ron, and she was rather thirsty…

She waved a bartender over, one that looked hardly old enough to apparate, let alone serve alcohol. "What do you recommend?" she asked, sitting up.

"How potent?" The young man inquired.

What the hell. "Very," Hermione nodded. Harry had been right; she was definitely old enough- and wise enough- to exert self-control. After all, she was Hermione Granger.

* * *

"Hey, honey, get me another one here," Hermione winked at the bartender, who was increasingly growing hesitant with every shot she had demanded. 

"I think you've had enough, Lady," he muttered. "I don't…"

"I didn't ask you to think," she pouted, "I just want another drink, baby. Be a good boy and hand one over," she encouraged, pushing a strand of long waves behind her ear.

"I don't… really…" He stammered, looking confused at the onslaught of charm. "Uh."

The protests had caught the attention of a man sitting nearby, who had just chugged half a bottle of Firewhiskey. "Hey, the lady wants a drink," he reminded the bartender, before wiping his mouth and going back to nursing his bottle.

Hermione peeked over at her defender, who looked just a bit hazier than he should have. It was difficult to make out any distinguishable features, but she shrugged it off. "You heard the man," she grinned at the bartender. "Nice and easy."

Uneasily, he quickly poured a glass of juice and added just a splash of something that even Hermione knew was quite potent. Nevertheless- just because of the principle- she had to protest, "Come on, I'm not sixteen. Add a little more of that, why don't you?"

Just as he reluctantly added more and pushed the glass over the counter, Lavender came tripping up to the bar with Seamus, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist. "Hermione!" she giggled, "I'm going to Seamus's flat! Here's my wand so you can get in." She giggled again. "Be safe now!"

Hermione wriggled her fingers goodbye at Lavender, tucking the wand safely inside her robes, and took a gulp of the drink. "Mmm… hey listen," she motioned to the bartender, lowering her voice confidentially, "you're kinda cute, you know that? What's your name, you wanna go out with me sometime?"

He looked panicked as he ran a hand over his shaved head, unusual in wizarding fashion. "Me? Uh… my name… I, uh, I've got to… I gotta go," he stammered before rushing off to the other end of the island, where he began to serve customers without a second glance back.

With a shrug and a chuckle, Hermione turned to face the man with the Firewhiskey. By this time, he'd finished the entire bottle, and was playing with the label on the bottle. "Hey you," she repeated, kicking the base of his stool to get his attention, "you're kind of cute too. What's your name?"

The man turned to face her and she could detect a smile on his face- or was it a smirk? It was getting quite difficult to see. "My name is … Duhh…Duhrayyy…co." He grinned more widely after having sounded out the syllables in the name, obviously proud of himself.

Hermione had to grin back. "I knew a Draco in school, you know? But he was a mean little boy. Not like you. You got me a drink." She took another gulp from the glass and sloshed it around. "Too bad I'm running out!"

The man- this other Drayco, not like Malfoy from Hogwarts, studied her glass carefully. "I think you're drunk." He pronounced carefully.

She nodded. "Me too. But you too, you know that? Harry tells me that I'm an aff…affecsh… I'm a loving drunk." She laughed loudly, shaking her head. "How can I love a drunk? That's pre... prepostrous! I love Ron, you know. He's not a drunk, I think. Only today." Her hair, loosened from the proper coiffure that Ginny had formed before the wedding, fell about her shoulders and into her eyes. She pushed back the strands impatiently, wondering when they had gotten so heavy.

Drayco nodded, as if he understood. "You know what?" He asked, then rushed to answer himself before waiting for a reply. "I'm kind of bored."

Hermione thought for a minute, before leaning back onto his shoulder. "My head was heavy," she said a minute later by way of an explanation. "But now my glass is too far away! Bartender!" She waved her arm enthusiastically, narrowly missing Draco's face.

With a chuckle, he stood, nearly losing his own balance, before being able to hold her up. "Firewhiskey is some heavy stuff," she reprimanded. "You know why I was drinking. Why were you drinking? How many bottles have you had?"

He pointed to the counter, where eight bottles lay in a neat row. "Like that."

She squinted, then shook her head. "Can't see. Doesn't matter, I guess. You're cute, you know that? I think I want to sleep with you, let's go."


	2. Familial Bonds

**Chapter 2**

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as she groggily took in her surroundings. Her eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds each, and her head was pounding with every jerky movement she made. As she looked around the room, however, the pain she felt from her head diminished as panic began to escalade.

She was in a strange bed, in a strange room lightly bathed from the sunrise. And what was more, she was in this bed… naked. Dreading what she might see, Hermione slowly turned her head around to see just who it was that she'd apparently slept with.

The man was faced away from her, providing her with a solid, lightly muscled back and a head of pale blond hair. Something about the hair, Hermione desperately tried to remember, was very familiar… Just then the man rolled onto his back, eyes still shut. The sheets were pulled to his hips, allowing her more than a glimpse of a smooth and hard chest that spoke of years of athletics…

Hermione dragged her eyes up past his neck to look upon the nameless face, the face that she'd drunkenly slept with. As his face began to register, however, horror overtook the panic as she realized just who it was.

_I slept with Draco Malfoy?_ She wailed in her mind, careful not to make a sound to wake him up. Draco Malfoy!

In a strange way, he had changed utterly and not at all from the sneering seventh year that she'd known at Hogwarts. His cheekbones were sharper, the planes of his face were more chiseled, and there was a light growth of facial hair that he definitely had not had at school. However, he was still so completely Malfoy that it was ridiculous.

How had she ended up in bed with him? She'd _kill_ him if he'd taken advantage of her inebriated state—but then again, that did seem highly improbable. Likely, he had been drunk too; otherwise, why would he have deigned to sleep with one that he believed was absolutely inferior to himself? And a man that looked like this, Hermione thought uneasily, surely had no need to persuade a drunk woman to have sex with him to relieve himself.

Which brought her to another point. Just how many times had they had sex? As she'd attempted to scoot closer to the edge of he bed, muscles that she hadn't even known she'd possessed were screaming in pain. Surely one time wouldn't have hurt that much… would it?

And speaking of sex, just how _safe_ had it been? Who knew how many different women he had slept with, and what he might have caught from them. Which meant that _she_ was in danger of acquiring some disease from him! She groaned again, thinking that even Ron was not worth this.

Ron.

Hermione blinked. Ron had gotten married last night, hadn't he? And that was how this all had started. She remembered his wedding, and being locked out of her flat… _fuck_, she was secluded with Malfoy without the protection of her wand! She sighed, rubbing her eyes before even attempting to remember more. She'd gone to the bar to look for Lavender… gotten drunk. Malfoy must have been there; she remembered leaving with some guy- how _could_ she have been so stupid!- with growing horror, she even remembered propositioning him!

She could just imagine his jeering now- _Granger, satisfied now that you've finally gotten what you've been lusting after?_ or _Granger, wait until the entirety of the wizarding world hears about how much you wanted me._ Or even, _Won't Potty and Weasel be surprised?_

Oh, Merlin. She couldn't lay in this bed any longer, next to Malfoy. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, biting her lip to contain the moan that threatened to rise as her feet bumped the ground, sending a wave of pain directly to her temples. The only thing that could have worsened the situation was having Malfoy awaken right now—_that_, she definitely did not need.

Hermione gaped in shock and disgust once she got off the bed, at the pile of used condoms that littered the floor. How was it even possible for a man to have so many in one night? She didn't stop to count, but grimaced. There was a silver lining, though; at least she knew that protection had been used.

She had to get out of there before Malfoy awakened. Stopping to grab her robes from where they lay, discarded, near the entrance to the hotel room in which they were currently in, she scourged the room to see if anything identifiable would be left. She paused in the middle of pulling on her robes, when she felt something hard inside them.

Hermione blinked in surprise as she pulled out a wand, before remembering that Lavender had handed her hers to use. Thanking Lavender mentally for her promiscuity, Hermione bit her lip as she considered what was the appropriate action to take. Deciding at last that the less Malfoy remembered of this night, the better, she whispered a _scourgify!_ around the room, carefully disposing of the numerous condoms located in the strangest places and replacing fallen lamps and toppled over chairs. She'd had to cast several charms, surprisingly; Hermione was secretly shocked that her charms had not been stronger, before realizing that this must have been due to the fact that the wand she was using was not hers. The strange tendency for a wand to be reluctant if commanded by one other than its master was quite inconvenient. However, the room now looked like a perfectly respectable hotel room, holding a sleeping, naked man.

The last thing to deal with was, in fact, the naked man. Hermione approached the bed tentatively, thinking hard. Truthfully, Malfoy would not care to remember this night either- why would he? Certainly, sleeping with a "Mudblood" was beneath him. And if it was unethical to perform a memory charm on someone unknowing, then so be it.

"_Obliviate_!" She ordered, pointing Lavender's wand at Malfoy. A flash of blue light glowed at the end of the wand, before it disappeared into Malfoy, who slept undisturbed. She briefly wondered if she should perform a second charm, in case the first was not strong enough on its own, but quickly decided against it; she could still remember the effects of a too-strong memory charm on Lockhart. And despite her disdain for Malfoy, she had no wish to make him mentally incapable.

Thanking the gods above that Malfoy hadn't awakened yet, Hermione took a last, lingering look at him before apparating away to her flat, certain that this would be the last time that she would ever see him.

* * *

_Two months later_

Hermione closed her eyes, calculating furiously. She couldn't believe that she hadn't noticed that her period had been missing for two months; it was just that she was so irregular to begin with, and there had been times when she'd skipped months before starting her cycle again.

Although, before those times, she hadn't had sex.

She bit her lip, growing increasingly nervous. She couldn't be pregnant, she simply couldn't. They had used protection; hadn't she seen those used condoms with her own eyes? Hermione shook her head wildly, refusing to entertain the possibility that she and Malfoy might have … forgotten, once or twice. She muttered all the curse words she knew, and then repeated the list, hoping against hope that this was all a mistake, and she hadn't been impregnated by Malfoy.

Malfoy! God. There was no way that he would marry her- and it was equally impossible that she would marry him. He was _Malfoy_, and she was Granger. The baby- Hermione chewed on her lip again nervously- the baby would just have to … deal. She knew that she would hopefully be a good mother, and besides, she probably wasn't even pregnant!

But being Hermione, she couldn't leave things to chance, and that meant a pregnancy test.

Of course, she couldn't go out and buy one; it had scarcely been a year since Voldemort's death and the media were still tailing Harry and herself. If word got out that Hermione Granger had been seen purchasing ingredients for a pregnancy test potion… the results could be disastrous.

There was only one thing for it. Hermione made her way over to her fireplace, throwing in a pinch of floo power from a small vase on the mantel before whispering, "Ginny Weasley."

Once her head was in Ginny's kitchen, she called out, "Ginny, are you there?"

A head popped into her line of vision as she called. "Hermione?" The man inquired. "Oh hey, what's up? Want me to call Ginny?"

Hermione was briefly surprised at seeing Dean in Ginny's flat, but recovered. "Hi Dean. Yes please," she requested, marveling to herself at how natural and casual she had sounded. As if she was just going to invite Ginny over to tea, and not to help her administer a pregnancy test potion.

Footsteps were heard, padding down the stairs, before Ginny popped into the kitchen. "Hi, Hermione! What's up?" She asked, settling herself in front of the fireplace, as if to have a long chat. "Why didn't you just come over?"

"I was wondering if we could talk," Hermione said hesitantly, remembering that Dean was still in the room.

At that, Dean laughed. "That's my cue to leave," he joked. "It's probably about shopping and periods, right?"

Hermione chucked mirthlessly. "Dean Thomas, you have no idea how right you are," she deadpanned. "But yeah, it's kind of a girl thing."

He laughed again before bending down to drop a light kiss on Ginny's lips, and saluted Hermione. "Enjoy the talk, then. Gin, I'm just going to go to Diagon Alley, okay? I think Ron said something about the Quidditch shop getting in some new shipments…"

Hermione made herself hide her innate reaction at the mention of Ron's name. "Thanks Dean," she said instead. "Sorry to tear you apart from Ginny- but absence does the heart good."

Ginny waved goodbye to him before settling down in earnest. "It sounds serious, Hermione," she said in a worried voice, "you aren't pregnant or anything, are you?"

Hermione was taken back by this. "Have you been taking lessons from Trelawney or something, without me knowing?" She wondered outloud.

Ginny began to choke, coughing loudly for a full minute. "_What?_" she said when she finally regained her breath. "You really _are_ pregnant? Hermione!"

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, at least I didn't have to say it. Well," she corrected herself, "I suspect that I might be… I haven't had my period in two months, Ginny, and I'm really worried. I need to make a potion… do you think you can get the ingredients for me? I don't want to be seen buying them…"

Ginny nodded empathetically. "Of course I will, I'll be over later this afternoon. But Hermione…" her voice dropped, though no one else was in the room, "who's the, you know, father?"

Hermione's eyes widened involuntarily. She hadn't considered what she'd tell other people, but she knew that telling them that _Malfoy_ was the father wasn't an option. "Um, we can talk about that later, when you get here," she hedged. "I'm really sorry, but please come over quickly."

Ginny nodded again. "Of course I will, I'll just run- or apparate, anyway- to Diagon Alley, okay? I'll be there in an hour." With a _pop_, Ginny disappeared, and Hermione retreated back to her own living room.

She really didn't know what she'd do, if she was truly pregnant. Abortion was not an option; she could not stand the idea of killing her own baby. Adoption was equally abominable; it would simply be selfish to give up the baby. The decision to keep it and raise it was an easily made one, but there were others that were harder- such as, how much to tell people.

Hermione had already decided that she would not make public the fact that Draco Malfoy was the father. In fact, the only option that she could see, was refuse to disclose anything. In fact, perhaps it would be better if she claimed that she could not remember who she had slept with that night. It was uncharacteristic of her, but she hoped that her friends would understand.

True to her word, Ginny breathlessly apparated into Hermione's foyer within the hour and pounded on the door. "Hermione!" she called, "It's me, let me in! I'm going to drop all this, so hurry!"

Hermione hurried to the door, yanking it open to reveal Ginny holding an armful of supplies. She took half of the load from Ginny, leading her friend to the relative privacy of her own room, not knowing when Lavender could make an appearance.

"I've already begun the potion," Hermione said slowly, "I didn't want to be just sitting here, waiting for you to come." She headed to a table where a large cauldron was set up and consulted a large book sitting open by the smoking cauldron, before digging through the bags that Ginny had brought. Finally emerging with a bottle of what looked like normal ferns and leaves, she carefully added four pollen seeds before turning to Ginny, who was just sitting, open-mouthed.

"Hermione," she said just as slowly, "are you going to tell me who it is?" She was sitting on the floor, leaning against Hermione's bed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Hermione stirred the potion counter-clockwise twice, biding her time. Finally deciding that she had to answer, she opened her mouth before shutting it, and thought some more. "Ginny," she said at last, "I don't, um, I don't really remember that night."

Ginny looked at her sharply for a long moment before rolling her eyes. "Hermione Granger, you are a horrible liar," she said flatly. "If you don't want me to know, then say so, but don't lie- because you can't get away with it."

Hermione flushed. She should have known that Ginny would be perceptive enough to know when she was lying- hell, she should have known that _anyone _would be perceptive enough to know when she was lying, even great idiots like Crabbe and Goyle.

"All right," she muttered, "I'll tell you. But you have to _swear_ not to tell anyone. Not even- no, scratch that, _especially_ not Harry, or-" she swallowed, "-or Ron. Got it?"

Ginny looked slightly offended. "Hermione, I know how to keep a secret," she reminded her friend. "I never told anyone about the time you and Harry and Ron got drunk off Firewhiskey and you and Ron-"

"Okay, okay," Hermione interrupted quickly, "No need to go there. I believe you."

"So…?" Ginny looked expectantly at her.

"ItwasDracoMalfoy," Hermione said, very quickly. She looked away from Ginny, instead pretending to be absorbed in her potion.

"I'm sorry, I must have been mistaken; I could have sworn that I heard 'Draco Malfoy'," Ginny said with a giggle. "What was that again?"

"DracoMalfoy," Hermione said after a pause. "MalfoyMalfoyMalfoy."

Her giggles subsided, as Ginny stared wonderingly at Hermione, through new eyes. "_Draco Malfoy!_" She squealed, not sounding as pissed as Hermione had expected her to. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Um, no," Hermione said with a frown, "why would I joke about that?"

Ginny grew serious as the implications sank in. "Wow, Hermione. What are you going to do? I mean, there's no way that you and Malfoy can marry."

Hermione nodded. "Well, my first priority is to check and see if I'm pregnant at all- it might all be a fluke, you know."

"You can only hope," Ginny said grimly. "Hermione, single parenthood in the wizarding world is… difficult. And it's horrible on the child. He'll be made fun of, and teased… it's really unheard of for a girl to get pregnant and not marry the guy."

"I know," Hermione wailed, "but I don't want to marry Malfoy any more than he wants to marry me!"

Ginny was quiet for so long that Hermione suspected that she'd fallen asleep. Instead of interrupting, Hermione added two more ingredients to the potion that was now brewing quite merrily, ironically. "Hermione," Ginny said at last in a thoughtful voice, "What if Malfoy proposed to you?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Hermione demanded, filled with horror. "First of all, Ginny Weasley, there is _no_ way that Malfoy will propose, and secondly, even if he did, there is absolutely no way in hell that I would accept!" She added a sniff for good measure, before wondering if she was overdoing it a little bit.

"Hermione," Ginny attempted to explain, "I don't think I'm the best person to explain this, but I'm all you've got right now. Okay, look. Every pureblooded family- yes, even the Weasleys," she expounded upon Hermione's surprised look, "-Every pureblooded family holds great importance upon heirs. We're very much like the muggle tradition from long ago that the oldest son inherits the title, the entailments of the land, and things like that. We don't have anything like that in our family, of course, but the Malfoy family is the epitome of those pureblooded families that holds things like that above everything else. If your baby is a boy, then it is the rightful Malfoy heir, and it _must_ be brought up with the Malfoy family- or at least, that's what most of the wizarding families will advocate."

"Even though the baby would be a half-blood?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I thought the Malfoys hated anything not pureblooded."

"They do," Ginny agreed, "but even _that_ is not as important as the family bond. It's actually a written rule among most pureblood family codes, though it's more strictly enforced as an understood one."

"Ginny…" Hermione gasped in horror as color seeped out of her face, leaving it a thin parchment white, "Ginny, if that's the case, then Malfoy wouldn't offer to marry me, he'd just take the baby away!"

Ginny froze, eyes widening. "Oh my god, I didn't even think about that. Lucius Malfoy would probably prefer that to having Malfoy marry you, Hermione. Oh Merlin, what are you going to do?"

Hermione felt chills spread from her heart down to every crack and crevice in her body. "First," she said shakily, "I'm going to make this potion. And I'm going to hope that…" she clenched her teeth. "I don't know, Ginny. I don't know what to hope for."

Ginny placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder, but it did nothing to relieve her of her nightmarish thoughts. For she had no doubts that if she was pregnant with the Malfoy heir, then there was no way that Lucius Malfoy would permit her to keep her own child. After all, she had seen how fanatic he was about keeping blood clean- and if that was less important than the familial bonds, then it was as sure as hell that he would kill her before allowing her to keep the baby.

Hermione shakily added the last ingredient to the potion before stirring it one last time. "Okay," she said, merely to break the tense silence, "Okay. I have to add three drops of my blood into this. If it turns silver in three minutes, it's a boy… gold if it's a girl. If it doesn't turn anything, then that means that I'm not pregnant…"

With the wand that Ginny silently handed her, Hermione made a slight gash on her thumb, and watched three drops of blood drip into the murky brown potion before waving her wand above the cut once more to heal it.

"Three minutes," she said quietly, as she and Ginny silently sat and stared into the murky depths of the cauldron. The first minute passed by slower than anything that Hermione had ever felt; each second felt like an hour and the whole minute itself was an entire lifetime. Sometime between the second and third minute, however, the entire potion began lighten until the entire solution glowed an iridescent silver.

She continued to stare blankly into the potion, unable to grasp the meaning that this brought. She was finally broken out of her thoughts as Ginny gave a loud squeal, before throwing her arms around her friend.

"Hermione! You're going to be a mother!" She screamed. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Are you?" Hermione asked quietly. "And what kind of life can I give this child?"

Ginny took a firm grasp of her shoulders and turned her to look into her eyes directly. "Hermione Granger," she said solemnly, "I'll grant you, the situation isn't ideal. However, this is a baby, _your_ baby. And I am so happy for you, because I know that you will make the best of mothers. Hermione, I'll always be here to help you out, and you know that Mum would be ecstatic to help you if you only asked. She's been pining since I grew up, you know," she added with a giggle. "And you know Harry and Ron will be overjoyed, as well."

At Hermione's disbelieving look, Ginny giggled. "Well, yes, they'll threaten to castrate Malfoy, but they'll come around. They love you."

"But remember," Hermione warned, "they won't know it's Malfoy, will they, Ginerva Weasley?"

Ginny waved a hand. "Of course they won't," she assured. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Ginny…" Hermione chewed on her lip, knowing that it was a bad habit but unable to stop, "I'm _scared_. I really am. I'm scared that I won't be able to raise this baby correctly, I'm scared that it'll hate me, I'm really scared that Malfoy will take it away, I'm scared of what my family will say, not to mention my friends. Ginny, how am I going to support it? How am I supposed to work, with a baby? God, what the hell am I going to do?"

"One thing at a time," Ginny said calmly, placicating Hermione, "You'll raise it well, I know you will, and it'll love you. Your family will support you, because they love you- I've met your parents, remember? Your friends will understand. You'll get a job- every employer is falling over you, and you know that. You can practically name your starting wages! And once you start working, Mum would love to look after it. As for Malfoy… we can only hope that he won't find out. I won't tell anyone, and I know you wont."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"But you know," Ginny said thoughtfully, "we really must stop calling it 'it'."

Hermione had to laugh, knowing how true Ginny was. "You're right, but a baby's name isn't something I can come up with at the drop of a hat. I'll have to think about it for awhile…"

"Make a list," Ginny teased. "Consult _Hogwarts, A History_…"

"You've got it," Hermione agreed.

"But in the meantime," Ginny crawled on top of Hermione's bed to sprawl down, "you have to do something about your living situation. I hardly think Lavender will be willing to live with a baby…"

"You're right," Hermione admitted. "But I don't know what to do. I can't move out and strand Lavender; I know she won't be able to afford this place on her own. Not to mention, I'd better start saving my money if I'm going to be able to support this baby."

Ginny was quiet, before shrugging. "Things have a way of working out, Hermione," she predicted. "Don't worry too much. What are you going to tell everyone?"

Hermione shrugged. "I was going to say that I didn't know who the father was… but that didn't apparently go too well," she said ruefully, with a shake of her head.

"You're right," Ginny chuckled, "You're an abominable liar, and there's no way you'll get away with that lie. I suggest that you simply stick as close to the truth as you can, without disclosing too much."

Hermione shook her head. "I'll do even better than that. I won't tell them at all about anything… I'll just say that I refuse to tell anyone. That is, after all, the truth."

"Truth," Ginny said after a moment. "Truth, that works."

"I just hope that it's enough," Hermione closed her eyes wearily. "Because I will fight Malfoy to hell and back before I let him take away this baby."


	3. Florean Fortescue

**Chapter 3**

_Four years later_

Draco Malfoy glared at the diamond-encrusted engagement ring, twinkling innocently on his dresser. That ring symbolized the shackles of marriage that would soon descend upon his life—and he was _not_ looking forward to it.

He could still play back, word-by-word, the interview between Lucius and himself, although it had been over a week ago. Draco muttered angrily to himself every time that memory resurfaced in his mind- which calculated out to approximately every ten minutes.

"Draco," Lucius had said, leaning back behind his mahogany desk into the large leather chair, "you are twenty-seven years old, and you are not getting any younger."

Draco had inwardly groaned, knowing exactly what was to come. His mother had often complained of this too, but this was the first- and only, he suspected- time that Lucius had and would ever bring the subject up. "Yes, father?" He had asked reluctantly, not wanting to hear what Lucius would have to say.

"You must secure an heir for the family," he had emphasized. "In case a misfortune befalls you, we _must_ have a son, _your_ son, to take your place. Your mother cannot bear any more children, and so it is up to you, Draco."

Draco had marveled at the concern that his father had had for his only son, but shrugged it off. After all, hadn't he known that there was no lost love between Lucius and himself? "Father, I'm not even thirty yet. I hardly think that I won't be able to sire a child in five, ten, even fifteen years from now," he had said with a smirk as he sprawled onto his back, giving every impression of an aristocrat without a care in the world. His virility was, after all, quite legend among the younger set.

His father had frowned sternly. "Draco Malfoy. You may not be living in five, ten, fifteen years. The Dark Lord may have been vanquished, but the future is unpredictable. The Malfoy family has never been without a male heir and I do not intend for the tradition to be broken on my watch. I expect you to be married to a nice, quiet, pureblooded witch who knows her place, and I expect to see this happen soon."

Draco, after having stifled the urge to scream, had mustered up a fraction of his trademark smirk and had asked, "Or what, Father? You'll disinherit me?" After all, his father wouldn't have dared—that had been, after all, the reason the two had been having this conversation in the first place.

Lucius's eyes had flared momentarily, before subsiding. "I will overlook that disrespectful comment one time, Draco. Do not let me catch you saying anything like that again."

Which brought him to this point—glaring at the engagement ring that had graced the fingers of Malfoy fiancées for aeons. As much as Narcissa had protested and argued, Draco had decided on Pansy Parkinson as his intended. Not only was he ready to _Avada_ the next simpering, faux-innocent mannered violet, but he felt that Pansy, at least, knew the lay of the land. She didn't expect grand passages of love, she didn't expect fidelity from him; she only expected unlimited access to the Malfoy fortune, which suited him fine. Pansy could have bought every designer robe in every country, and it would hardly make a dent in one of the myriad Malfoy vaults in Gringotts.

But still, he was reluctant to propose. He supposed that he was not looking forward to the end of his bachelorhood and the freedom that came with it. After all, marriage was still marriage, no matter with whom it was.

Draco sighed once more, wondering when he'd matured. Had his father made this demand even one year before, he knew without a doubt that the twenty-six year old Draco would have thrown a fit and disappeared for a few days.

Cursing darkly under his breath, Draco grabbed the ring along with its box and stashed it in his pocket next to his wand, apparating to the Parkinson manor where Pansy inevitably was, still asleep, given the early hour.

Draco had apparated directly into Pansy's bedchambers, despite the anti-apparation wards set up by the Parkinsons. The room was dark because the curtains had not been drawn yet, so Draco pushed them open with a flick of his wand.

He was now able to see Pansy in bed, holding tightly onto the waist of an unidentified male with her head buried under the pillow, as if to get away from the light. He strode over to her side, poking her shoulder. "Hey, Pans," he greeted, prodding, "get up."

She turned her head and opened one eye reluctantly. "Draco?" she groaned. "What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is? Go away."

"I need to talk to you, so get this guy out, won't you?" Draco asked as he conjured himself a chair to sit on.

"What, my chairs aren't good enough for you?" she muttered as she tapped the sleeping man. "Hey, hey, get up," she demanded. "Go home or something, okay? The fireplace is over there."

The man, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stumbled off and looked at her with a shy smile. "Pansy, I-I really appreciate—"

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, whoever you are. Go away now, I'm busy."

With a hurt expression, the man flooed away and Pansy turned to face Draco. "This had better be good," she snarled. "That guy was a good lay. And, oh god, where's my fucking wand?" She felt around the bed before noticing it on a nightstand. "Too far. Draco, cast me an Anti-hangover charm, will you?" She sighed, pushing back her blonde hair. "I'm so tired. Last night was so wild, you really missed out."

Draco shot the spell towards Pansy, who immediately sat up with a brighter smile on her face, carelessly allowing the covers to fall to her waist, revealing her naked upper body. "That's better," she breathed. "Now get me some clothes or something."

With an audible sigh that told her how annoyed he was getting at being her lackey, he did as she demanded, before sprawling back into the armrest of his chair. "Ready now?" he asked sardonically.

She nodded. "Hurry up, though. I have an appointment at eleven."

"It shouldn't take long," Draco agreed. "So, Lucius has been getting on my case about getting married and producing an heir. And since your father's been complaining about your, how do I say this without offending, promiscuity?-"

"Sleeping around?" Pansy suggested helpfully, rolling out of her bed. She headed off to where Draco knew was her bathroom, no doubt to take a shower. "But don't stop now, it's just getting interesting."

"I figured we could marry," Draco concluded. "Hurry up, Pansy. I don't want to spend all day here."

She popped back out, walking to her closet. "Can you tell a house elf to bring some damn towels to my bathroom?" she asked.

Draco impatiently transfigured her bed sheets into a stack of towels, before _accio_-ing Pansy to stand in front of him. "Stop stalling," he sighed. "What do you say?"

"Oh, were you waiting for an answer?" she asked in surprise. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? Of course I'll marry you. But," she added with a smirk worthy of a Malfoy, "that won't stop my, how did you so eloquently put it, promiscuity."

Draco shrugged. "Get me a couple kids to keep Lucius and Mother happy and I hardly think I'd care if you decided to fuck all of Britain, as long as it's discreet." He pulled out the ring from his pocket, pulling her left hand towards him. "Here's the ring," he continued, giving it one last glare before attempting to place it on her finger.

"Ow, _Draco_!" Pansy protested, yanking back her hand. "What in bloody hell is that, a cursed ring?"

He stared bewilderedly at it. "Did I put it on wrong or something?" He wondered. "Here, give me your hand again." When the ring reached the tip of her ring finger, however, it simply refused to go any further- as if there was an invisible barrier across the circumference of the ring. He attempted to shove it in by force, but Pansy yanked back her hand again with a howl.

"Stop that!" she wailed. "It shocks me every time you try, and it hurts like a bitch."

Draco stared blankly at her hand. "What's wrong with your hand? It was fine on Mother."

She glared at him. "Nothing's wrong with my hand! Everything's _right_ with my hand! It's your stupid ring that's faulty."

He had no idea what was the problem. In fact, he had seen with his own eyes, the engagement ring on his mother's hand before she had pulled it off and given it to him when he had professed his intentions to propose to Pansy. She had been rather against it though… could she have enchanted the ring, so that it refused to work with Pansy? Draco considered it for a few seconds, before concluding that it was bloody unlikely.

On the off chance that she had, though, he tried to put the ring on his own finger. The barrier, however, was still intact; what was more, he felt a strong voltage of electric current run throughout his entire body.

Draco gaped in shock at the little ring, still twinkling innocently. "What the hell?" he wondered. "Pans, it's not because it hates you."

Pansy smacked his head. "Of course it isn't, you ingrate. Go talk to Lucius about this stupid ring, or get me another one. I'm going to go take a shower before my appointment at Mdm. Bassett." She sauntered off to the bathroom after swiping the towels still on her bed, without a care in the world. Draco, contrarily, was still bewildered at the ring's rejection. As a Malfoy heirloom, no other ring could be used as an engagement ring for a Malfoy bride

With a last shake of his head, he apparated back to his library, where his father would hopefully be.

Lucius was indeed in the Malfoy library, perusing a large tome that looked as if it was something the Ministry had once attempted to confiscate. "Ah, Draco," he greeted, upon looking up to see his son, "what seems to be the problem?"

Draco sat down on the sofa, still frowning at the ring. "I just got back from the Parkinson's," he said slowly, "where I intended to propose to Pansy."

"Good, good," Lucius nodded. "But…?"

"But when I attempted to put the ring on her finger, it … refused to do so," Draco thought for a second. "It sent a current through her every time I attempted to—and when I tried to on my finger, me as well."

Lucius looked disturbed by this news. "Draco…" he said quietly, "let me see that ring."

After Draco reached over the desk to hand it to his father, Lucius took it and set it on his desk. He murmured under his breath for a long time, occasionally tapping it with his wand. With a grunt of frustration, he stood after ten minutes and retrieved a book from a nearby shelf, where all the family history and codes were kept.

Draco sat quietly, watching his father flip back and forth through the pages. After a bit, he couldn't restrain himself any longer and asked, "So why did that happen?"

Lucius didn't answer for a long moment. "Are you quite sure that the ring rejected both Pansy and yourself?" he asked. Not waiting for a reply, he snapped his fingers to summon a house elf. "Elf," he ordered, "bid Mrs. Malfoy to come and attend me."

The elf bowed and disapparated, and Lucius bent down to study the tome once more.

Narcissa walked into the library then, looking cool and collected as always. "Yes, Lucius?" she asked calmly.

He beckoned her forward, and reached for her hand. Narcissa shook her head. "'Once the Malfoy engagement ring leaves the hands of a Malfoy wife,'" she quoted, "'the ring has become the property of the next Malfoy bride and shall be uninhabitable.' Remember?"

Lucius nodded shortly. "There are, however, no restrictions as to the Malfoy bride," he said to himself thoughtfully. "Are there, Narcissa?"

She looked vaguely surprised at being asked something about the Malfoy family code by the patriarch of the family. "No, none written."

Lucius picked up the ring and tried to slip it on her finger, but encountered the same barrier that Draco had earlier, but Narcissa did not jerk away from the ring. "No shock, though," he thought out loud. "Why?"

"Did the ring reject the Parkinson girl, then?" Narcissa questioned, walking back to sit next to Draco, who merely nodded.

Lucius tried the ring on his own finger, but shuddered. "Odd," he said. "It hurts anyone but Narcissa." He thought for a moment, before freezing. "Draco…" He trailed off, before flipping furiously through the book.

Draco and Narcissa remained still, as to not disturb his train of thought. After perusing the same paragraph several times, he sat back with a frown.

"Draco," Lucius said in a deathly quiet voice, "what have I told you about Contraceptive charms?"

Draco looked startled; this was something that he hadn't been expecting. "I'm not sure what you mean, Father," he stated firmly. "What about them?"

Lucius stared at his son without blinking. "Did I, or did I not, warn you to exercise extreme caution before engaging in sex?"

"Yes, of course you have," Draco said blankly, "and of course, I have. I've never _not_ casted a Contraceptive charm, and a Morning After charm."

"It seems," Lucius paused, as if to get the most effect for his words, "that you must have forgotten."

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, confusedly. "Of course I haven't; I can't recall a single time when I didn't cast one."

"The reason, Draco and Narcissa, that the ring has rejected Pansy Parkinson is because you cannot marry her." Lucius looked at the ring again with a strange look on his hard face. "This, in turn, is because she cannot mother the Malfoy heir."

"Is she barren?" Narcissa breathed, horrified. "Thank god you didn't propose, Draco."

"No, not that," Lucius shook his head. "She cannot mother the Malfoy heir because there already exists one."

With those words, Draco thought that the earth had ceased to rotate, time had ceased to move, and all he could hear was his blood pumping in his ears. "_What?_" he gasped finally. "How could there be…"

"It seems that you, Draco Malfoy, have forgotten the importance of a contraceptive charm."

Draco shook his head wildly. "I don't understand, there's _never_ been an occurrence when I've—" He broke off suddenly.

"Remembered, have you?" Lucius asked softly.

"There was an instance," Draco recalled, speaking slowly, "a few years back. I woke up, alone and naked, in a hotel room, with no recollection of the night before. At the time, I was too hung over to wonder what had happened, and later on, I just figured that someone had brought me to the room, but…"

Lucius stood up, suddenly, and strode over to Draco. "You _must_ remember what happened that night," he growled. "Draco, this is _the_ Malfoy heir. You cannot have another child until the heir is brought to reside in Malfoy Manor; you know that."

"I can't," Draco said helplessly. "I've been trying to remember, and I'm just drawing a huge blank, as if… as if I've had a memory charm placed on me," he concluded quietly. "Do you think that's it? I never get so drunk that I can't recall what happened before."

"Draco," Narcissa interjected, "you must. Find. That. Child. Lucius, is there any way you can perform a locator charm or anything on the baby?"

Lucius thought hard. "I don't know. Most locator charms use the wand of the wizard to find the person, and the baby can't be old enough to possess a wand yet. I can try, though, seeing as how we share the same blood…" he strode back to his desk, looking in the book again. "Ah. A slight variation on the Locator spell." He tapped the ring twice, before whispering something that Draco could not quite catch.

"London," he said at last. "Somewhere in or around London, I imagine."

"London?" Draco grimaced. "How am I supposed to find someone in London? Do you know who the mother is?"

Lucius shook his head. "There is no way of telling that. Your biggest- and only- clue is that the baby is a Malfoy; therefore, he should have Malfoy characteristics. Our ancestors formulated a charm in case something like this ever happened; all Malfoys possess these characteristics now."

"Like slyness?" Draco asked in disgust. "The thing is like, 3, 4 years old. How am I supposed to discern that?"

"No, my darling," Narcissa said with a laugh, "What your father is saying, is that he should look like a Malfoy. Pale hair, grey eyes, pale skin. A boy, of course, since he _is_ the heir."

Lucius nodded. "Well, Draco," he shrugged, "happy hunting."

* * *

Hermione pushed back the chair and stood, stretching happily. She'd _finally_ broken the curse that the office had sent the day before; she had had to work overnight to find the counter-curse, but the end result was worth it. She quickly scrawled the incantation for the counter-curse and the wand movements, before folding the note carefully and tossed it into the miniature Floo network that she had developed last year.

Her work with the Ministry allowed her to work mainly from home, with just a few hours in the office when Cyan was in preschool. Because work involved piles of paperwork that she could not entrust safely with owls, which were prone to attack, she had used the technology of the Floo system to form one that would transport small items to different locations.

After adding a pinch of power and calling, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement!", she watched the note be transported before she made her way to the large bedroom that her son slept in.

As Hermione approached the bedside, she saw that her small son was still asleep, lips upturned slightly as he murmured something about Chocolate Frogs and broomsticks. She laughed softly to herself as she stroked his pale blonde hair that was currently sticking up in all directions. _Malfoy would have a fit if he saw his hair like this,_ Hermione thought with a chuckle before catching herself with a quick shake of her head. No, Malfoy would _not_ have a fit, because Malfoy would not _know_ about Cyan.

She stood instead, walking over to the large windows, where she pushed back the curtains that had so far hidden the sunlight. As soon as the sun came streaming into the room, the boy immediately began squirming and burrowing under the covers, as if to escape what he knew was coming.

"Cyan," Hermione said as she perched on the edge of his bed, "time to get up. Mummy's going into the office today, and you have a play date scheduled with Scotty Thomas, remember?"

"Mummy, I want to keep my hair today," he said sleepily with a wide yawn, eyes still closed.

Hermione gave a sharp sigh, still mournful that she had to cast Glamour Charms on Cyan before he went out anywhere; anyone who got a good look at his features would easily be able to tell that he was a Malfoy. She disliked the idea of casting charms on a toddler, but it couldn't be helped. Cyan, however, had never embraced the changes in his appearance.

"Cyan, you know we can't do that," she said regretfully. "But if you want, you can pick out your own clothes today, how about that?"

At this he fully scrambled up and gave her such a scornful look that Hermione burst out laughing. "All right, all right," she said. "Anyway, get up now. Aunt Ginny said that she could watch you, since she's babysitting Robert too, would you like that?"

Cyan shook his head wildly. "I wanna go to work with you," he said decisively. "Can I, Mummy? Can I?"

Hermione bit her lip. She always felt that it was a bit of a risk to take Cyan to places were Malfoy was likely to frequent; even though she always took precautions, one never knew what could happen. On the other hand, however, Hermione was greatly reluctant to coddle her son. She wanted him to be a strong, independent person, and keeping him hidden from all of society was not the way to accomplish that.

She sighed, deciding as she always had that the Glamour Charms would be enough to conceal Cyan's identity- and truth to tell, how likely was it that _Malfoy_ would present himself at the Ministry?

Decision made, she nodded an assent and smiled indulgently as her baby cheered, before scrambling off the bed. "I'll go set up some breakfast," she suggested, "if you go and wash your face and brush your teeth, okay?"

He nodded and toddled off to the bathroom, as Hermione quickly conjured up a casual outfit for Cyan on the bed, before walking the opposite direction to the kitchen.

Their morning procedures completed, Hermione flooed with Cyan directly to her office, where she was greeted by piles of paperwork waiting to be filled out, on curses already broken and some that had yet to be. Slightly wincing at the amount of work that had accumulated overnight, she dropped the Cyan's bag by her barely-visible desk, before conjuring a railroad-building set, a muggle toy that she had introduced to Cyan a few months ago.

Once he was completely absorbed with this new activity, which included piecing together pieces of tracks and building a complete system, Hermione dropped a kiss on his now curly brown hair, very much like her own, before retreating to her work.

A couple hours later, she heard a squeal and looked up to see Cyan with a huge grin on his face. "I finished, Mummy!" He cheered.

She stood and walked over, admiring the intricate design uncommon for a normal four-year old. _Then again_, she thought smugly, _he _is_ my child._ Using her wand, Hermione transfigured a paperweight from her desk into a small, mechanical train, and handed it to Cyan, who immediately placed it on the tracks and watched it toot away. It was bound to keep him entertained for another hour or so; within that time, she could finish up a few more packets and be ready for lunch.

Just as she finished up on reading a report about the counter-curse to Avada that one of the other curse-breakers were working on, she looked up from a tap on her calf to see her son with a grin. "Mummy," he said sweetly, as he did every week, "can I have ice cweam?"

And Hermione responded, as she always had, "_Ice cream_? How about some nice carrot sticks?" At his disgusted look, she laughed. "All right, we'll go to Fortescue's after lunch."

"Let's go now," he suggested with a winning smile. "I'm hungwy, you see."

Hermione sighed but conceded, wondering if she was spoiling her son by allowing him to win so much. He was just so charming, though, that she couldn't bring herself to refuse him something so easily granted. _I wonder where he got it_, she thought idly. _Not from me, and Malfoy certainly isn't very charming._

Hermione had intentions to pick up a couple quick sandwiches or something at Fortescue's for both Cyan and herself, as well as an ice cream cone for her son. The two flooed into the Leaky Cauldron, exchanging nods with Tom the landlord, and entered Diagon Alley. The alley was rather crowded, given that it was a sunny Saturday afternoon.

They held hands as Cyan skipped across the cobblestones, leading the way to the Ice Cream Parlour that he was intimately familiar with. When they were within ten feet of the entrance, however, Hermione saw something that made her blood chill.

Draco Malfoy. Draco bloody Malfoy. What was he doing at Fortescue's, looking almost good enough to eat? The last four years had been kind on him, she reflected unconsciously, before realizing just what it had been that she'd thought.

And just as she was beginning to believe that the situation couldn't worsen, it did; Draco Malfoy was examining the children at Fortescue's.

Oh, he was being extremely subtle about it; she was sure that nobody else could tell exactly what he was up to. However, being in a profession where one had to be aware of even the tiniest flicker of a finger, she noticed.

Hermione stopped so suddenly that Cyan almost fell over. "Mummy?" He questioned, looking back, once he had regained tentatively his balance. "Whatsa matter?"

"Cyan," she said desperately, "Cyan, let's go back to, um, the bookstore, just for a second. Okay? Mummy forgot she had to pick up something, but we'll come back, all right?"

"All wight," he said agreeably, and Hermione had to retrain herself from picking him up and running away. Instead, she hurried to Flourish and Bott's, where she sought refuse in the familiar shelves.

She pointed out the children's section to Cyan, with its large, squishy armchairs and low shelves of colourful fairytales. He immediately became absorbed in a large tome, which made Hermione laugh and remember herself as a child.

She dawdled in the bookstore for close upon an hour, until she was certain that Malfoy had left. "Cyan," she whispered as he closed a book, "Let's go now." Before they left the relative safety of the bookstore, however, Hermione double-checked that the Glamour Charm was still present on Cyan, making sure that his hair was still a curly dark brown and his eyes a dark blue.

Hermione crossed the fingers of her left hand, calling back onto the old muggle tradition of bringing forth luck, as she held Cyan firmly with her right.

"Mummy," he protested, "I'm not going to wun away."

"That's not what I'm afraid of," She said bitterly as the two emerged from the bookstore and turned towards Fortescue's, Hermione hoping desperately that Malfoy was gone. As the ice cream parlour fell into her line of vision, she could tell that there was no Malfoy anywhere in the vicinity.

She let out a premature sigh of relief, before tensing as she felt warm breath on her neck.

"Then what is it," a familiar voice drawled, "that you _are_ afraid of, Granger?"


	4. The Zabini Blue

**Chapter 4**

Hermione whirled around, shoving Cyan behind her protectively while keeping a hand firmly wrapped around his forearm. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," she said calmly, managing to amaze herself with the coolness of her tone.

"Oh, but I think you do," he replied just as coolly, grey eyes piercing her own brown ones. His pale hair was as sophisticatedly cut as usual, a bit longer than she had remembered it from _that night_- now it was falling haphazardly into his ever piercing grey eyes, lined with familiar thick lashes. He was certainly as good-looking as she remembered from _that night_, and she had a strange desire to run a hand over his arms currently hidden by black robes.

She stood tall with her shoulders straight, eyes glaring defiantly. He, however, was more than a head taller than her and therefore had no trouble peering over her shoulder at Cyan, who stared defiantly back up at the man who had scared his mother.

"Ah, and this must be your son," Malfoy said disinterestedly. "How… interesting."

"I don't see why it's of any interest to you," Hermione retorted hotly. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Malfoy said slowly, a feral smile slowly gracing his face. "Now _that_ is an interesting question, Granger." He reached out a hand to lightly trace her cheek with the back of a finger. "I hardly thought that you'd be interested enough to inquire after my… desires."

She jerked away, taking a step back, taking care to keep a blank look on her face. It was possibly the most difficult thing that she had ever had to do—including giving birth—because truthfully, the only thing she wanted to do was turn tail and run. Of course, that would only amplify her guilt in his eyes. "I don't see what you need from me," she said instead.

"Imagine my surprise, Granger," Malfoy said in a strangely genial voice. "I was standing outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, just minding my own business, when I spy an old schoolmate making her way over with a child. The second she notices me, however, she grabs the child and runs away. Suspicious, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione glared at him with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps this schoolmate simply didn't want her child to associate with a disgustingly _hid_—"

"Careful, Granger," he interrupted carelessly. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you."

"I don't have time for this," Hermione declared coldly, inwardly thankful that Cyan had gathered enough to remain quiet, understanding that this was a tense situation. _He has no idea_, she thought wildly.

"That's all right," he said with a shrug. "I just wanted to chat with your boy for a bit."

Hermione thought her heart was going to stop beating. "That's too bad," she said with a voice full of saccharin. "I don't encourage children to speak with monsters, you see."

"What are you talking about, Granger?" Malfoy asked, distracted momentarily. "A monster?"

She gave a mirthless chuckle. "Good thing you're here, actually," she said. "I've always wondered, and you can answer me now. So, now that Voldemort's dead—"

"_Don't_ say his name!" Malfoy hissed, eyes darting wildly around, as if any one of the witches and wizards congregated in Diagon Alley could be a reincarnation of Voldemort.

"Why not, Malfoy? Scared?" Hermione smiled, equally feral. "Can't bear to hear your old master's name? He's _dead_. Voldemort. Voldemort. _Volde_—"

"Don't bait me, Granger," He interrupted again, having regained his composure. "You don't want to do that."

It was imperative that she keep his attention on _her_, not Cyan. As much as she hated to admit, Malfoy was an intelligent man. If he had any suspicions, he simply had to utter "_Finite Incantatem_" with his wand, and the Glamour Charm that she had applied would disappear. Hermione didn't think that she had ever felt this panicked her life; even fighting against Voldemort hadn't been this bad. For in the Final Battle, her only personal risk was her life—in this situation, she had her son to worry about as well.

She had remained silent for too long, for his attention had shifted. He knelt, not minding the rough cobblestones, and held out a hand to Cyan, who was attempting to dart out from behind his mother's robes. Hermione panicked. "What do you think you're doing?" she gasped. "Get away, Malfoy, before I curse your balls off."

"Language, Granger," he said mildly. "Is that how Potter speaks in front of his son?"

_Potter? Harry?_ Hermione thought wildly, before closing her eyes in relief. Malfoy thought that Harry was Cyan's father.

"Uncle Hawwy isn't my father," Cyan said defiantly. "My father died. And you're being mean to my Mummy. Stop it! Or I'll kick you."

Malfoy stood slowly, eyes lighting. "Misplaced bravery? How like a Gryffindor. And what's this, he died, Granger? Interesting. Anyone I know?"

Hermione had to laugh from disbelief and it must have sounded quite mad, as Malfoy looked startled and asked if she was sane. "Yes, Malfoy," she said with another chortle, "I do believe you're acquainted."

But before he could get another word in, Hermione turned around again and picked Cyan up. "I have to go," she threw over her shoulder. Just as she began to hurry off, he dropped a strong hand on her shoulder. She paused, looking straight at that hand until he slowly pulled it back.

"Granger," he said quietly. "Turn around for a second."

Merlin help her, she couldn't refuse that voice. While her brain was screaming at her, demanding to know what exactly she was doing, her feet of their own violation slowly turned.

Malfoy lifted a hand to Cyan's cheek, and twitched in surprise as he made contact with the skin. "What in the…" he murmured softly before focusing on the face.

Hermione was petrified, but she knew that if he didn't pull out his wand, she and Cyan were somewhat safe. And from one viewpoint, this encounter was perhaps fortuitous; it was probably unavoidable and it would be good to get all his suspicions out at this time.

"Granger," he drawled, looking back up at her. "Those eyes of his."

Hermione was greatly tempted to check and make sure that they were still blue, but resisted. "Yes?" she asked coolly instead. "What is it about my son's eyes that captivates you?"

"They're blue," he said quietly.

She shot him a disbelieving look. "Yes, Malfoy, they are. Congratulations, you aren't colorblind."

"Granger, they're the Zabini blue," he reinforced, still quiet as to not attract even more attention than they were receiving, standing in the middle of the alley. "Only those with Zabini blood have those eyes that shade of blue."

Hermione cursed under her breath. How could she have made such a mistake with the Glamour charm? She had only been concerned with masking the Malfoy traits within Cyan; she hadn't given even a thought about the traits of the other pureblooded families. "Well, he's not a Zabini," she said flatly. "I've never even spoken to a Zabini."

"Granger, you don't understand me," he said, deathly still. "_Only_ the Zabini family can have those eyes. There's a spell that all the pureblooded families have on—"

"Well _he's not a Zabini_," Hermione snarled, snatching Cyan away from him. "Come on, Cyan, Mummy's—"

"Cyan?" Malfoy reiterated. "Interesting name choice. Cyan is, I believe, the name of that exact shade of Zabini blue."

That, in truth, was the reason that Hermione had chosen that shade of blue for the Glamour Charm. She wanted to scream and stamp her feet now; how utterly _moronic_ had it been for her to do that? She should have gone with a dull, nondescript brown, much like her own—but she had felt bad, hiding his beautiful eyes. Disguising them into completely different, but equally beautiful shades were somewhat of a consolation, she had felt.

"And the only way that any magical child can have any trait claimed by a pureblooded family without having the blood of said family," Malfoy continued in an odd voice, "is if he or she is under a…" He broke off, before resuming. "What is it that you're so afraid of, Granger, that you had to place a _Glamour Charm_ on your child?"

Hermione thought she was going to pass out, because he knew. _He knew_. It was only a matter of time, then, that Lucius Malfoy found out—hell, he probably knew right now, and Malfoy was the one sent to retrieve Cyan. She couldn't let him see how much of an effect his words had had on her, though. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" She asked mildly instead. "It must just be the light. His eyes are blue, that's all. Just a nice, plain blue. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Come on, Granger, you can do better than that," Malfoy said coldly. "You're supposed to be the cleverest witch from Hogwarts; you ought to be able to lie better than 'Maybe it's just the light!'." He grabbed onto her arm then, before easily cupping Cyan's face gently and upturning it to his face for a closer look. "It's—" His triumphant look turned ashen as he stammered, "Bu-but I could have…"

Hermione looked for herself at her son's face, surprised to see that his eyes had indeed turned from the distinct blue-green to a more commonplace cornflower-blue as she had earlier insisted to Draco. She glared at Draco as she thanked him for wasting her time before apparating away to her flat, inwardly thanking accidental magic that children seemed to be able to do during times of great emotion with all her might.

She had to do a bit of fancy juggling with Cyan in her arms to retrieve her wand, which she had stuck in an inside pocket. Quickly opening the door, she stumbled in with the child and immediately began to plaster spell against protective spell against the door. The rest of the flat was as protected as Dumbledore knew; it was unplottable with anti-apparation wards.She was completely lost on ideas as to what to do. Malfoy _knew_, and it was only a matter of time before he found out everything about her. Oh, he couldn't enter her home easily, but he would know where she worked, where Cyan went to school- which she certainly hadn't kept a secret- and every other nonsensical detail in her life.

Cyan, who had remained quiet up until this point, could not resist any longer. "Mummy," he demanded, tugging on her robes, "Mummy, who was that man?"

Hermione closed her eyes, drawing on her powers to keep her calm. "Cyan, my darling," she said as she knelt, drawing him into a hug, "you know how much Mummy loves you, right?"

He nodded, giving her such a sweet smile that Hermione wanted to break down and cry.

"Then, baby, you have to trust Mummy on this, okay?"

He nodded again, looking seriously into her eyes. Hermione sighed, waving her wand above his head before murmuring, "_Finite Incantatem_." As his hair slowly straightened and lightened, and his eyes slowly paled to a silver-grey, she led him by the hand to a sofa, settling on a loveseat with him in her lap.

She sat with him facing her, and ran a hand through his hair. And no matter how much he had protested about this act before, he let her do so. "Cyan, that man… Promise me one thing, baby. If you ever see him again, you must not talk to him. In fact, don't even get near him."

"But why?" He questioned, looking confused, through wide grey eyes. "Mummy, I liked him."

"You _liked_… why did you … take a liking to him, Cyan?" Hermione had to take deep breaths. This conversation was one that she had hoped to save until he was older- perhaps a teenager? But it would not do to have Cyan unprepared for Malfoy.

"Mummy," he said in a voice so soft that she had to lean in to hear, "he looked like me."

Oh Merlin, how was she to get out of this one? "Darling, many people look like many others."

He took a deep breath. "Mummy, when he touched me, it felt funny."

Hermione's eyes widened as she stopped breathing for a second. It felt _funny_? What was that supposed to mean? Had Malfoy _cast_ something? Did he _know_? "How did it feel funny, baby?" she asked, determined to keep a calm façade in front of her baby. She didn't want to frighten him- or more likely, since he wasn't a child that frightened easily, she didn't want to give him opportunities to ask more questions.

"It felt all tingly like how I feel if I touch you, but more," Cyan tried to explain. "It felt like magic."

Magic? Hermione didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood still in the middle of Diagon Alley, shell-shocked, not even aware of the curious glances thrown his way from the crowds that passed him. He had _seen_ the Zabini eyes, and he was absolutely, positively certain that it had not been a trick of light. Granger hadn't had the chance to retrieve her wand, so the change hadn't resulted from her.

Accidental magic, then, performed from the little boy. Cyan, was his name? Accidental magic had the potency to be quite powerful at times, of course, but the boy should not have been able to change features like that unless he was very powerful.

After all, what emotion could he have been feeling that strongly? Fear was a possibility, but after he had actually told Draco off for scaring his mother—Draco had to laugh at that; the idea that Granger had been afraid of him, as well as the fact that a child that size had the gumption to chastise a fully grown wizard. Quite a Gryffindor, he thought with a scoff. Though, to be truthful, the kid had guts- impressive. He hoped that his son wasn't a coward- though not a total Gryffindor, of course.

However, one thing _had_ caught his attention—Granger _had_ been afraid of something. He could tell, from the shifting of her eyes and the tenseness as soon as she realized that he had been in the vicinity. The Granger that he had known would have never run from a confrontation; that was the only reason that Draco's curiosity had been aroused enough for him to track her down, after she had fled after seeing him at the ice cream parlour.

Truth to tell, he would have had no suspicions if Granger hadn't acted so strangely. Lucius had demanded that he go out and look in the London area; Draco had figured that Diagon Alley was as "London" as the wizarding world got. If Granger hadn't run, he would have spoken a few words to her, maybe patted the head of the stupid kid, and been off. By hiding, however, she had greatly aroused his curiosity.

And of course, once he had closely examined the boy, he was able to notice that things just weren't adding up.

First of all, what reason could Granger have had for placing a Glamour Charm on the child? If he knew anything about Gryffindors and Granger specifically, beyond their incessant and misplaced bravery, it was that they and she especially placed much value on family loyalty and, as much as he hated to say it, love.

Contradictorily, it was common knowledge that Glamour Charms, especially long term, could be detrimental to the host, especially if the host was of a young age. Thus, Granger must have had an important, possibly life-and-death reason for doing so on her own son. What was that?

And furthermore, why had she been so frantic to hide the boy from him? He didn't think that it was due to his reputation as a "Dark Wizard" for she had been afraid of _him_, not any of the others classified with him.

And, of course, one last thing that he felt was … strange, about the boy, was the strange surge of magic that had rapidly been exchanged when he had touched the boy. It was as if they had exchanged parts of their souls, in that one brief touch.

Draco shook his head, wondering when he had become susceptible to strange fancies. No doubt, he had imagined the whole thing—who had ever heard of an exchange of _magic_?

Absolutely unheard of.

The strangest part about this entire episode was that he had actually considered, for a moment, Granger as the possible witch that he had fucked senselessly. Was he out of his mind? The kid hadn't looked anything like him, first of all, and secondly, Granger would never have consented to anything with him.

"I'm talking in circles," Draco mumbled to himself. "Merlin's balls, I must be going crazy." If Granger had performed a Glamour Charm on her son, then so be it- it wasn't any of his concern.

What _was_ his concern at the moment was the fact that he was still interested- even after he had discerned that Granger's son was not even a possibility in being the Malfoy heir.

Draco cursed under his breath, before whirling around to stomp off, resuming the useless search.

x

"How did it go, Draco?" Narcissa asked from her curled up position on the chaise as soon as he strolled into the library. Lucius looked up from his paperwork behind his desk as Narcissa spoke, and both parents watched their son as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Not too well," he confessed honestly. "I saw nothing out of the ordinary."

Lucius frowned. "Draco, nothing is going to be glaringly obvious. There won't be a sign above the child, blaring '_Malfoy Heir._' As ridiculous as this may sound, you must rely on your instincts."

"I hardly think—" Draco stopped, upon seeing the infuriated look on Lucius's face.

"Draco Malfoy," he barked, rising from behind the desk, "do you not comprehend the importance of this? This is _the_ Malfoy heir, _your_ son. If you do not find this child, _it will be the end of the Malfoy line_. I cannot stress it enough. You _must_ find that boy."

Draco sighed, frustrated. "Yes, of course I must. But you've forgotten; the mother must be magical. She could have placed a Glamour Charm on the kid, and I'd simply look over him." He complained, thinking back to Granger. "And I know," he hastily added, "that the fact that the mother had a Glamour Charm on the kid makes it suspicious, but she might have had other reasons- not to mention, I would have a hard time discerning that as well. Unless they're stupid enough to charm the eyes into the Zabini blue," he muttered, inwardly rolling his eyes at Granger's stupidity.

"Zabini blue?" Narcissa questioned, interest provoked. "What's this, have you run into Blaise's child?"

He shook his head. "It's not important, Mother."

Having ignored the exchange, Lucius handed a book to Draco that he had summoned off the shelves. "Here," he said. "Background reading."

Draco blinked blankly at the large tome. "You want me to read this all?" He asked disbelievingly. "It's got to have a couple thousand pages, at least! Do I look like Granger, or something?"

"Have a look at the title," Lucius suggested coldly. "_Children of Magic._ I suggest you skip to the section on bonds between the parent and the child. Come now, Draco, you aren't an imbecile so cease this act at once."

"You may be excused," Narcissa said lightly with a wave of her hand. "Go and educate yourself."

Draco silently sighed as he made his way to his rooms. He could not believe that one mistake could result in the termination of his family line. He continued to berate himself as he passed portrait after disapproving portrait glaring down at him from their positions on the walls of the dark hallways.

"Oh, shut up," he ordered at one point, seeing that a great-great-grand something had opened his mouth- no doubt to chastise him for losing the next Malfoy.

Once he reached his room and settled himself cross-legged on his bed, Draco opened the book to the section on parental bonds. He skimmed over what seemed like pages and pages of useless information, before reaching a part that seemed as if it could be just a little bit conducive to his search.

"'_The bond between a wizard and a witch and their child is one that is not fully understood by Healers to this day,_'" Draco read out loud with a snort. "So why bother putting it in the book if they don't know anything about it? _'However, it has been proved that upon the first touch between a parent and the child, an exchange of magic takes place. The exact procedure is said to differ from wizard to wizard; some describe it as a tingle, while others claim that it is more of a shock. The objective, however, is the same; for the parent to be able to properly care for the child, he must first understand the babe; this can only be achieved with an exchange between the parent and the child.'_ Great, so now I have to go around and touch every sodding kid?" Draco sighed.

He yawned, before continuing with the book. "_'In cases where contact from the parent and the child has been detained, the exchange may differ; it has been described by one case as more of a surge of power between the parent and the offspring, rather than a thread.'_"

"A surge of power," He scoffed as he pushed the book off the bed and onto the floor. "People write this dribble? And they actually expect us to believe it?" He shook his head, before yawning again.

Draco crawled under the dark green covers, figuring that, after this entire useless afternoon, the least he deserved was a nap.

x

An hour later, he shot up from bed, frantically feeling around for the book. "Where the _fuck_ is that… oh, I threw it on the floor…" he jumped off and sat himself on the floor, furiously flipping through the pages. "That page on … oh, Merlin… _In cases where contact from the parent and the child has been detained_," Draco read out loud once more, "_the exchange may differ; it has been described by one case as more of a surge of power between the parent and the offspring_."

He looked around the room with panicked eyes, a feeling of claustrophobia drawing near. "_A surge of magic_," he quoted again. "Oh, fucking hell, that's what it was when I touched Granger's kid!"

* * *

Hermione drummed her fingers on the tabletop, eyes unfocused as her thoughts drifted towards Draco Malfoy. It was just like him, to disappear after graduation, and appear back in her life to cause trouble before disappearing again. And then, just when she had things under her control, he'd decided to appear again—what was his purpose?

Of all the luck. She snorted, the drumming of her fingers unconsciously increasing in pace and fury.

"Hermione?" A tentative voice broached, breaking her thoughts.

She glared. "_What_?" She demanded, irritated beyond belief for an unexplainable reason.

Ron and Harry simultaneously sat back, eyes widened. "Nothing," Ron hastily amended as a frown slowly crept on his face. Harry, on the other hand, continued to look startled.

Hermione sighed, regretting her response almost instantly. She twirled a strand of brown curls around a finger as she chewed on her lip. "Sorry guys," she apologized finally. "And Ginny. I didn't mean to bark at you. It's just…"

"Hermione, if something's wrong, you know you can always talk to us about it," Harry reminded her, sincere beyond belief. "We love you. We're here for you; you know that."

Ron nodded enthusiastically in agreement, red hair bobbing up and down as he smiled at her. "Of course, Hermione," he said, adding his own approval. "We're always open."

Hermione didn't respond for awhile, still thinking. She hadn't wanted to tell them, but they were right; friends didn't keep things from one another- especially something as big as this- and she would need their help now that Malfoy had shown up. She could only hope that they wouldn't react _too_ badly—after all, she knew just how much of lost love there was between Malfoy and the boys. And beyond that, they'd be doubly upset because she had chosen to keep something _that_ big a secret from them, for years. She didn't know who they thought the father was, as if this moment—she had simply refused to tell them anything about the identity of the father, and Hermione suspected that Harry and Ron believed that she herself didn't know. _As if I wouldn't_, she huffed silently to herself.

"Guys," she began softly, biting her lip as she wondered how exactly to phrase this, "I'm really sorry I couldn't tell you this before. I know you were hurt when I said that I couldn't tell you who Cyan's father was, but… it's difficult to say."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks, before Harry leaned forward. "Hermione," He said, obviously speaking for both Ron and himself, "Ron and I were disappointed, yes, that you couldn't trust us with that information, but we understood- and we still understand, of course- that you have your own reasons for not telling, and we respect that."

"Although," Ron added innocently, "if you want to tell us now, nothing's stopping you."

Ginny reached over Harry's lap to shove Ron, but Hermione didn't seem to notice, as she had been staring blankly out the window. "I didn't tell you," she said slowly, "because I was afraid of your reactions- especially you, Ron. I knew how you would react, and I knew how volatile you were… still are, though not as bad, of course. And I couldn't have you go and… threaten him, or attack him. Because then, he'd know."

"Hermione…" Ron trailed off, looking vaguely horrified. "Are you saying that the father doesn't know? That's… that's really bad. I mean, if Luna and I weren't married, and she got pregnant with Robert and didn't tell me I'd had a kid until he was four years old…"

"Ronald," Ginny intervened hotly, indignantly turning to face her brother with her hands placed on her hips, "_shut up_, okay? You don't even know the circumstances, so don't get started on her."

"As if _you_ know, Ginny Weasley?" Ron retorted, glaring at his sister from behind Harry, who looked uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of a Weasley spat.

Ginny glared back, eyes flashing. "And what if I do, Ronald?" She shot back, looking ready to commit murder.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione intervened, speaking heavily. "I'm being really melodramatic about this, aren't I? God, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be. Ron, the father is a pureblood. You see?"

Ron froze, as the redness in his face slowly drained away. "Oh," he whispered finally, seemingly mostly to himself. "I'm sorry."

"Wait, what?" Harry demanded, looking confused and a little lost. "What does that matter, Hermione? Ron?"

Ginny quickly explained to him, while Ron and Hermione stared blankly at one another, neither seeing anything. Hermione was breathing shallowly; she hadn't regained her breath from when she had run into Malfoy earlier at Diagon Alley, and she suspected that she wouldn't fully recover from this episode until it was all resolved. She didn't know how she could possibly live in the fear of having her child taken away from her for a long period of time, though that was infinitely preferable to having him actually taken away. She shook her head slightly, realizing that it was a lose-lose situation.

Harry looked extremely worried upon finding out what exactly that entailed. "So," he said uncertainly, "were you planning on telling us, Hermione?"

"Yeah." She affirmed. "And you're wondering why, of course. Well, the fact of the matter is, I ran into him, yesterday."

"M—the father?" Ginny breathed, eyes widening in horror for her friend. She got up from where she had been sitting with Harry, fingers entwined, and joined Hermione, wrapping an arm around her. "Lord, Hermione."

"And that's not all. I think he suspected something," she continued, closing her eyes and immediately seeing Malfoy's sneering face. She winced and jerked her eyelids open, before focusing on the table in front of her. "He saw Cyan, and …"

"Zabini, right?" Ron said angrily. "I'll kill him, Hermione—"

"Why did you say Zabini?" She asked curiously.

"The eyes," he said as if it were something she obviously should have known. "Cyan has the Zabini eyes."

"You _knew_?" Hermione whispered. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have changed the charm before—"

"Hermione, they're the traits of the Zabini family," Ron stared blankly at her. "Every pureblooded family has them; I thought _you_ of all people would know that. It's red hair for the Weasleys. Zabini eyes. Those insipid green eyes of Pansy Parkinson. The pale hair and grey eyes for the Malfoys."

"Well, I didn't," Hermione admitted, "so when I placed the Glamour Charm on Cyan, I just made his eyes that color because of his name. So all this time, everyone's been thinking that I slept with Blaise Zabini!"

"Well, yeah—" Ron began to say, but was interrupted by Harry, who was slowly growing redder- and angrier.

"Wait a minute," he interrupted loudly. "Glamour Charm? Are you saying that I've never seen what my godson really looks like?"

"Yeah!" Ron chimed in, apparently just realizing that.

Hermione nodded miserably. "I'm really sorry," she said sadly, "but Cyan looks just like that stupid sperm donor, and if you saw him, then you would have known."

Ron looked mystified at the term while Harry stared for a moment, before nodding grimly. "I suppose that makes sense," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm not condoning what you did, Hermione. You should have known that you could have trusted us with anything; I thought we were closer than that. But all right, I do understand."

Ron paused. "Are you saying that Ginny knew?" He asked finally, frowning still at his sister, who glared back. "That's not very fair."

Hermione winced; if she had been in Ron's shoes as of this moment, she would have felt- well, not left out, exactly, but… disappointed, at the very least. "I did tell her," She said finally. "But it was the day after… waking up, and I had to make a Pregnancy Potion…"

Ron winced too, mirroring Hermione's earlier action. "And did you cry?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Maybe it was a girl thing. All right."

With their words, Hermione felt as if a large burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She sighed again, this time happily. "Thank god," she said in relief. "I thought you guys would hex me for having kept you in the dark this entire time."

"I was thinking about it," Ron admitted, "but then I figured, what the hell, I'd end up forgiving you anyway. So, can I see what Cyan looks like now? I have to admit, I'm really curious."

Hermione hesitated, before catching herself. "Of course you can. But I have to warn you, you aren't going to like this… either of you. So please, do me the favor and don't get mad- especially in front of the baby- and seriously, don't even think about confronting M—the father."

Ginny had left earlier to retrieve Cyan from his room, where he had been distracted with new books, and returned at this time with Hermione's son. Upon seeing the gathering, he greeted Harry and Ron exuberantly before crawling up to sit next to his mother, grasping a cold hand in his own chubby ones. He pulled himself up to his knees, placing a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek before settling himself in her lap.

"Remember," Hermione reminded her friends quietly before murmuring the counter spell. As Cyan's features began to morph, Ron choked; his face turning as brightly red as his hair. Harry blinked, his face contrarily paling.

"Why are Uncle Hawwy and Uncle Won looking like that?" Cyan asked, shifting uncomfortably as the two continued to stare at him. "I look better with my weal hair and face, Mummy."

Ginny snickered at that. "He's definitely Malfoy's," she commented. "Just as … confident as our old friend."

"Of course you do," Hermione said comfortingly, dropping a kiss on the top of his now blond head. "Ron and Harry are just surprised to see you, that's all. Now, Cyan, why don't you go back to those books?"

"No," he dimpled, as sweet as pie. "I want to stay with you, Mummy. Does this mean I don't have to change my hair anymore?"

Hermione patted his cheek. "Mummy will be in your room in ten minutes, okay? I just has to finish talking with your uncles and Aunt Ginny, but afterwards, we'll be able to play. So go wait in your room."

He reluctantly crawled off the sofa, trudging back to his room.

Once he was out of hearing range, Ron, who had managed to keep himself quiet, wheezed out, "H-Hermione! That's Draco Malfoy, come to life. Are you _kidding_ me? How the _hell_ did you end up sleeping with him!"

Hermione nodded disgustedly. "You see what I mean? And if Draco Malfoy finds out, he's going to…"

"Kill you?" Harry snarled. "Hermione, what were you thinking? Are you _crazy_?"

"Well, yes," she agreed uncomfortably, "sometimes, I rather think I am. And that was the whole problem, Harry- I _wasn't_ thinking."

Ginny, who had been retraining herself for the whole conversation, couldn't hold it any longer. "Hermione," she burst out urgently, "what did you mean, when you said that Draco was suspicious?"

"Draco?" Ron asked immediately, picking up on the one word. "Since when are _you _on first name basis with Malfoy the Git? Do you have a secret too?"

"Draco, Malfoy, whatever," Ginny said impatiently, waving his concerns away. "It doesn't matter, Ron. Can you _please_ get your priorities set? And besides, that was the most tactless question, ever. Hermione," she turned once again to her friend, "_what happened_?"

"Well," Hermione recalled slowly "I ran into him at Diagon Alley. We had a little spat; you know how it was back then. And then he looked at Cyan, and noticed that he had the Zabini eyes, but I told him that I'd never met a Zabini- from that, he deduced that Cyan was under a Glamour Charm."

Ginny and Harry winced, though Ron hadn't reacted, still flushed.

"And," she continued, "the thing that worries me the most is that he touched Cyan. And Cyan later told me that he felt their 'magic' exchange at that touch."

"Why, what does that mean?" Ginny asked, confused. "I've never heard of that before."

Hermione thought longingly back to the library at Hogwarts, which had never failed her before. "I don't know," she had to admit.

Ginny thought for a long while. "I wonder…" she murmured, before jumping up. "I'll be right back," she said quickly as she hurried to the fireplace. "The Burrow!" she cried as she plunged into the fire and disappeared.

Hermione turned her gaze on Harry and Ron, who looked overwhelmed. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I don't know what you're going to do," Ron said at last. "If Malfoy knows about the charm…"

"It's worse," Hermione realized. "I'd totally forgotten, but at Diagon Alley, Malfoy was looking at children. No, he was looking _for_ children."

"He probably found out somehow, and was looking for a child that resembled _him_." Harry said quietly. "How are you going to get out of this, Hermione?"

The three sat in silence, each engrossed in his or her own thoughts. Hermione was preoccupied in discerning exactly what was the safest and best option in dealing with Malfoy- she briefly considered hiding in the muggle world, but quickly rejected that idea. She wanted Cyan to attend Hogwarts, so hiding would only postpone the inevitable confrontment.

She didn't know how long they had been sitting there in silence, when Ginny returned, slightly sooty and breathless from the fire. "I've got it!" she cried. "I talked to Mum, and she said that she felt the same thing when she first touched each of her children. She said that the first time a parent touches a child- magical, of course- they exchange a bit of themselves with the other."

Hermione had suspected that it had been something like that, but she was still shaken upon the confirmation of her beliefs. "So now we know why," she said, "but not what to do about it."

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry looked questioningly at her. "How did Malfoy forget that he'd, you know, slept with you?"

She looked sheepish. "Well, it was just a one night thing… he was drunk, I was drunk…" Neither of the three looked convinced. "Oh all right," she grumbled, "I put a memory charm on him."

Ron burst out laughing. "That's my girl," he praised, rather proudly.

"So he won't ever remember," Harry said thoughtfully. "Useful."

Hermione shook her head in the negative. "Not really. I was using Lavender's wand… long story and not very important," she hastily added, seeing that Ron was about to inquire as to why, and _not_ wanting to explain why exactly she had been so drunk that night, "and so it wasn't a very strong charm. That's also a reason I was on tenterhooks for a long time; I thought he'd break it. I just hope he doesn't get that drunk again," she added darkly. "That'd do it for sure."

At Ron and Ginny's blank looks, she elaborated. "There's a thing that muggles call 'State Dependent Memory' which is the phenomenon where people are more likely to remember an event if they're in the same state as when it occurred."

Ron still looked hopelessly confused, so Hermione elaborated. "So basically you remember things that you did while you were sober when you're sober- because you're in the same state. Similarly, you can remember what happened when you were totally wasted if you're at that same state again. Make sense?"

"So," he said slowly, "if I did something when I was drunk, and couldn't remember when I sobered up, I just have to get drunk again to remember?"

Hermione shrugged. "That's the basic concept. It's really fascinating, isn't it, how the memory encoded in the hypo—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Thanks for the Biology lecture, but let's focus on Malfoy here."

"Right," she agreed hastily. "Thanks Harry. So back to what I was saying, if Malfoy breaks the charm- and he actually might have, we have no way of knowing- he was really wasted that night, so he probably won't remember anyway, unless he gets _that_ drunk again. Which, obviously, he hasn't."

"So," Ginny breathed out. "What now?"

What now, indeed.


	5. Favors

**Chapter 5**

Draco Malfoy had plans for that night. Plans that including him, and a bottle or ten of the strongest alcohol known to wizardkind. He scoffed, disgusted beyond belief that Granger- _Granger_- had been the girl. Bloody hell, what had he been thinking? How could he have possibly mistook Hermione Granger, pride and joy of the crazy Dumbledore, best friend of Harry-Bloody-Potter and the Weasels, Bookworm Extraordinaire, and Queen of all things hideous, as a potential bedmate?

What had he been drinking that night? _Why_ had he been drinking? That damned Memory Charm must have erased his entire recollection of the day; when he had awakened, he could not recall a single event that had occurred after the previous night. Draco shuddered, remembering his state upon awakening, _that_ morning.

His clothes were at first nowhere to be found. It was only after a great battle with the furniture before he finally found his trousers, wedged partly under an armoire- he didn't want to think about how it had gotten there in the first place. His cloak had been folded neatly and placed on the doorstep outside the hotel room along with his shirt and a neat pile of buttons that Granger must have ripped off.

It had taken him a minute to gain his bearings. He had had muscle cramps in his lower back and thighs that had ached abominably. Draco winced, wondering just how many times he and Granger must have fucked for him, the seasoned veteran, to be in pain the morning after.

He shook his head. There were some things in the world that should never be thought of, and this- copulation between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger- was one of those.

"Hermione Granger," he muttered in agony. "Granger. Bloody hell."

XXXXXXX

_He had to find Granger,_ was the only thing that went through his mind the next morning. Draco paced outside the telephone booth leading to the Ministry offices, snarling at anyone who tried to come near him. He wasn't even sure that Granger would use the booth to get to work; she could have simply apparated into her office, or used the Floo. Hell, he didn't even know if she was on call today.

Still, it was the only way he could think of, to get in contact with Granger to verify his suspicions. He had tried locating her, but she had put up wards against that. That she worked in the Ministry, he knew, but far little beyond that. Anyone that he had asked, had either expressed their ignorance, or quietly demurred before disappearing.

Draco stood impatiently, sighing loudly when she did not appear for three-quarters of an hour, and he had to conclude that he would not get anywhere in this fashion.

As he turned to stalk away, he caught a glimpse of the next best thing after Granger: Weasley, who had grown even taller and lankier since Draco had last seen him.

"Weasley!" He called out, stroding forward to catch the man, who seemed startled when he looked up to see a Malfoy hailing him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" He asked warily. "I'm busy."

"Listen, you co-er, listen, Weasley, I need a favor," Draco amended quickly, realizing that Weasley was far less likely to help him if he flew into a temper. He could only hope that Weasley had matured since their Hogwarts years, and understood his dilemma. After all, he was a pureblood and knew how it was for a pureblooded family to be into a situation like the Malfoys were in.

"A favor?" Weasley sniggered. "After all you've done to us, you have the gall to ask me for a _favor_?"

Draco nodded, ignoring his facial expression. "Look, you know the whole situation about Granger and the kid. I need to talk to her, Weasley. If that's my kid, then … fucking hell, Weasley. You understand, don't you? You have a kid yourself, I know that. Come on."

"The day that Draco Malfoy begs me to empathize with him," Weasley said blithely. "Never thought I'd live to see it."

"Weasel," Draco hissed, "the last person that I would beg is _you_. And the fact that I'm coming close to it must signify something in your small brain."

Weasley looked angry for a second, before his features smoothed out. "Ah, Malfoy, but I have one up on you, so you'd better watch your words."

Draco's eyes flared; he didn't know how much more of this… exchange he could take. He was coming perilously close to having to _beg_ Weasley for something, and Malfoys did not beg anyone for anything. Ever. "Weasley," he said carefully, "as a pureblood to pureblood- and I'm not discriminating against anyone or anything right now- as a pureblood, you must understand the ramifications to losing an heir. You must understand what'll happen- the Malfoy family line will die out! Weasley…" Draco sighed loudly. "Please."

Weasley's eyes widened. "As much as I'd like to see you and your family suffer," he said quietly, "I'm not a git like you, Malfoy. I have no doubt that, if our positions were exchanged, you'd laugh and walk away if I asked you to help me. But you're right. I _am_ a pureblood and therefore I understand what you're facing. You're just lucky you didn't run into Harry- he'd never understand. I'll help you," he concluded, still quiet. "I hope Hermione will be able to forgive me."

Draco looked exultant, but Weasley was still speaking. "But you have to swear," he continued, "swear on your mother's live. In fact, make the Unbreakable vow, that you won't ever try to take Cyan away from Hermione. You'll let _her_ set the terms, and you'll abide by them."

Draco sighed again. "I can't do that, Weasley," he admitted. "I won't try to take the kid away from Granger, but the Malfoy heir must reside with the Malfoy family, under our roof. You know that."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you," Weasley informed him. "Those are my terms; take it or leave it."

Draco thought furiously. If he didn't make the vow, then that meant that he could do anything in his power to get the kid away from Granger and keep the stupid thing with him. However, that resided upon the fact that he had to be able to find Granger, and then find the kid. And he knew just as well as anyone, that when a powerful witch was determined to hide, then she would not be found until she wanted to be.

He continued to rack his brains, searching for a loophole in Weasley's wording. He couldn't take the kid away from Granger- quite straightforward there. He had to let her set the terms- that was negotiable. If he could persuade Granger to let him have the kid- no, she was a Gryffindor, she'd never let go of her kid. Then she'd have to come with the kid, because there was no way that he'd let the Malfoy heir grow up outside of the family residence.

In fact, why didn't he just marry the damn woman? Yes, she was a muggleborn, but he had grown out of that I-hate-anyone-who's-not-a-pureblood-so-hear-me-roar phase a long time ago. She was smart, and that meant that the kid would be smart as well. She'd probably be a- he sniggered- _loving_ mother, and that'd keep the kid happy.

And now that he truly considered it, marrying the bint would solve his problems entirely.

With that, Draco smiled benignly at Weasley. "Yes, Weasley," he said smugly, "I accept your conditions."

Weasley looked slightly startled, but nodded. "You can Floo to my house at eight tonight," he informed Draco. "Luna's going to be at some convention thing about Snorkacks, so no one else will be home. We'll lay out the conditions then."

"And who's going to perform the Vow?" Draco inquired curiously. "That is, if no one else will be there."

"I didn't say that no one else would be there," Weasley corrected nastily. "I said that no one else will be _home_."

Draco stared blankly at him. "Right, because that makes a huge difference."

Weasley sighed, annoyed. "Never mind, Malfoy. Just be there, and don't you dare be late." With that, he made to stalk off, before turning back around. "Oh, and just for your information," he added, "I'm just doing this because it's right for Cyan, _not_ because I want to be doing _you_ any favors."

"I rather gathered that, Weasley," Draco said lightly. "I wouldn't want you doing me any… favors."

With a choked laugh, Weasley left, and Draco sauntered off for a celebratory drink, unable to keep a smirk off his face.

* * *

Hermione apparated into the foyer of her flat, shooting off various spells to disarm the protective spells on her door. Ron and Ginny had laughed and called her paranoid when they'd first seen the glaze of the spells, but Harry had given her a tiny nod, as if he had approved. And in truth, Hermione acknowledged that she _was_ a bit paranoid, but she felt that it was necessary anyhow.

Just as she was beginning to near the end, she felt a tingle at the back of her neck. Having learned years ago to trust her instincts, she whirled around and readied her wand to shoot off a spell. "Who's there?" she demanded.

A figure emerged from the shadows against a wall, hands held up. "Hello Granger," the man said smugly, nodding at her. "You can put that wand down."

"To the contrary," Hermione hissed, walking up and pointing the wand directly at his temple, "What the fuck do you want, Malfoy, and how did you find me?"

"How I found you is none of your business, Granger, and as for what I want… I want you to know what I know, and I want to know what you know."

Hermione's grip slacked, as she stared at him. "Malfoy. What are you talking about?"

He walked away from her and casually leaned against a wall, crossing his arms. "Well," he said with a light laugh, "I'm talking about a lot of things, Granger. Why don't you invite me in, and we can talk like civilized adults?"

"Not likely," Hermione snorted, still aiming her wand. "Go away, Malfoy. I have nothing to say to you." Why was he acting so… normal? She had thought that he would be disgusted, or furious, or even as mundane as annoyed. But amused? It didn't make sense.

"No, I think you do," he contradicted, dropping his air of ennui immediately. His face hardened, as he loomed over her. "I think we need to talk, Granger," he said dangerously, "about your little secret. Except, it's not so little anymore, is it?"

Hermione swallowed. He hadn't been amused, not really. It had probably been a façade- and she had been right. He _was_ furious. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" She demanded, inwardly frantic. What did he know? How much did he know? What did he _want_?

"I'm talking, Granger," he continued in the same vein, "about your little Memory charm four years ago. I'm talking, Granger, about you keeping my son from me for four years. I'm talking about your _lie_, you stupid bint."

"Calling me names isn't going to get you anywhere, you idiot," Hermione said condescendingly. "Nor do I sleep around. I thought you were a Slytherin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be subtle and cunning? You're about as subtle as a bulldozer, Malfoy."

"I do not speak your muggle tongue, Granger," he reminded her. "And as for your sleeping around, well," he waved a hand, "you're having an argument about a child you had from a drunken one-night stand. If that's not sleeping around, I don't know what is."

"Don't even," Hermione scoffed. "_You_ of all people know what sleeping around is, you slag. I don't need such an influence over _my_ son."

"_Our_ son," he corrected softly.

"Mine," she insisted. "You can't prove anything."

"Oh, can't I?" he refuted, a smirk creeping onto his face. "You forget, Granger. We wizards can do anything. And once it's proven that you've kept the father away from his son, well, the Ministry won't look too favorably on the mother, now, won't they?"

"Are you _threatening_ me, Malfoy?" Hermione flared, unbelieving. She had _known_ that his reaction would have been as such, but to actually face him, and hear with her own ears… "How dare you!"

"No, how dare _you_?" Malfoy finally shouted, voice rising rapidly. "How dare _you_ obliviate me? How dare _you_ not tell me that I've fathered a kid? How dare _you_ try and lie to me about it afterwards? _How dare you stand here and accuse me_?"

"I dare," Hermione said coldly, "because I love my son, and I don't trust you farther than I can throw a truck- with one hand. I dare, because I will fight you do the death before I allow you to take my son. I dare, because I would rather _die_ than see my son with _you_."

"I think that can be arranged," Malfoy hissed. "I hear Azkaban is nice this time of the year, Granger."

"Don't you even," Hermione said quietly. "I'm done with this conversation." She turned, but before she could take a step, he grabbed her wrist in an unlocking grip.

"That's too bad, Granger, because I'm far from being finished," Malfoy's grip strengthened. "Don't underestimate me, Granger."

"Don't you underestimate _me_," she corrected coolly. "I'm the best curse-breaker the Ministry's ever had, and they were on their hands and knees begging me to go and work for them. I hardly think they'd throw me into Azkaban on the whim of some _playboy._"

"Not when the playboy can buy and sell the Ministry," he informed her quietly. "So watch your words, Granger."

She wrenched her arm out of his hand and slapped him across the face. "If you even attempt to take my son away from me, I will take Cyan and be gone so fast, that you won't even know what hit you," she snapped. "Do you think I'm stupid, Malfoy? I knew this could happen at some point, and I've had preparations made in the case that you did try anything. Malfoy, if I want to hide, _nobody will find me._"

He ignored the slap, but stared at her thoughtfully. "Such a Gryffindor," he said gravely. "I just hope the kid won't turn out like you."

"Oh, as opposed to _you_?" Hermione scoffed. "You're—"

Malfoy shook his head. "I cry pax, Granger. You win."

"—smarmy little-" she broke off. "I _what_?"

"Win." He smiled. Charmingly. "I won't try to take him from you."

"Well." Hermione blinked, lost for words.

"On one condition," he continued blithely.

"You're hardly in a spot to make conditions," Hermione said, disgustedly. "As if I'd go along with what you demand. Blackmail is still illegal, you know. What were you saying about Azkaban earlier?"

He shrugged it off. "Please," he said, annoyed. "As if they'd ever try anything like that." He turned serious. "But Granger, look. I'm asking you to help me… no strings. Just hear me out. If you refuse me after that, then…" he shrugged, "that's that. Just listen. Please."

Hermione was uncertain. She didn't want to concede anything, especially after that victory- that _he'd_ announced! What was he up to? The Malfoy she knew would _never_ admit defeat to anyone- especially a Gryffindor, especially a muggle-born, especially _her_.

"The Malfoy you knew," he interrupted her thoughts, "grew up. As for what I'm up to, I just need you to hear me out. I think you'll agree with me after." Upon her startled look, he sniggered. "Don't ever play cards, Granger. I can read you like a book."

She ignored that. "I'll hear you out, Malfoy," she said slowly, "if you swear on your honor that you won't try to take Cyan away from me."

"You actually trust me?" he asked in a mockingly disbelieving tone. "A _Malfoy?_"

"You know what? Forget it," Hermione said angrily. "I guess I was wrong to think that you could _possibly_ be mature enough to—"

He sighed, interrupting her again. "Look, Granger, I… apologize. I'm just used to… well, never mind. If you really would hear me out, I'd really appreciate it."

She still looked uncertain, but nodded. "Swear," she demanded.

"Isn't once in a day enough?" he muttered under his breath, but held up his wand. "I solemnly swear on the honor of a Malfoy, that I will not attempt to steal the child resulting from copulation between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, with the express disapproval of said Hermione Granger." The tip of his wand glowed black, before resuming its natural color.

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, turning red. "That's quite enough! Copulation, indeed."

"Happy?" he asked smugly, looking back at her. "No loopholes."

She thought, but couldn't detect any. "None," she agreed. "I suppose you can come in now." Hermione shot off a few more nonverbal spells at the door before pulling it open.

"Sit in there," she commanded, pointing toward the den. "And don't touch anything."

"In fact, I won't even breathe," he muttered as he stalked off.

Hermione sighed, wondering what it had come to, that she was entertaining _Draco Malfoy_ in her house. At least he had sworn- and thank Merlin Cyan wasn't home.

"Here," she said rudely as she slammed down a cup of apple juice on the coffee table. "And sit down, Malfoy."

Malfoy was perusing the room at his leisure, examining the small cluster of photos that Hermione had arranged on the mantle. "Weasley, Weasley, Potter, Granger, do you have a photo of _me_ up? Who's that, Lovegood? Merlin's balls, _Longbottom_… some ugly kid…"

"Hey, that's Ron's son!" She protested half-heartedly.

He snickered. "No wonder," he commented, before going back to the photos. "Where's the kid?"

"The _kid,_" Hermione said heatedly, "has a name. Use it."

"Yes, oh goddess," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Where's _Cyan_?"

"He's at school," she said with a frown. "And you won't see him today, so don't ask."

Malfoy shrugged. "I'll see him tomorrow, then. And the next day. I meant, why don't you have a picture of your kid up?"

She looked at him strangely. "Cyan's right there," she said slowly, pointing to a large frame, where a mini-Malfoy was grinning and waving a toy broomstick.

Malfoy cursed under his breath. "Fuck, Granger, I thought that was me!"

Hermione looked at him warily. "Malfoy, are you okay? Why would I have a picture of _you_ as a child up in my house?"

"You tell me," he demanded, before subsiding. He picked up the frame, and peered into it. "He looks like me," he commented happily. "Good-looking kid. Very handsome. Takes after his father."

"Yes, but he's also very smart, which didn't come from the paternal side of the family," Hermione said sweetly.

"Watch that ego," Malfoy said carelessly. "At that rate, Granger, you won't be able to fit through the doorway."

Hermione just shook her head. "Sit," she said again, impatiently. "You wanted to talk. So talk."

"Ah, yes," Malfoy commented as he sat in front of her. "Talk. So, Granger, listen. For your sake, you'd better hope you didn't know this, because if you did know this and failed to inform me, then…"

"You aren't making any sense," Hermione said flatly.

He sighed impatiently. "Never mind. Cyan is a Malfoy."

"He is not," she protested.

Malfoy grunted. "Stop interrupting for a second, okay? Cyan is a Malfoy," he repeated, emphasizing the name, "because his father is a Malfoy. And as I am, as you oh so graciously pointed out earlier, _the_ last Malfoy, Cyan is my heir as well as my son."

"So?" Hermione asked rudely.

He took a deep breath, eyes narrowing. "_So,_ Malfoy heirs- all heirs of a pureblooded family- must grow up with the family. It's just how it is in the wizarding world."

"Cyan's not pureblooded, though," Hermione pointed out. "So your family isn't a pureblooded one anymore."

"And that's where it gets complicated," he tried to explain. "See, it's difficult to discern what exactly a pureblooded family is. Many- no, most pureblooded families that you know are not all pureblooded. Weasley, I know, has a muggle cousin or something. Vincent Crabbe's great grandfather or something was muggleborn. I think Pansy has a muggleborn relative somewhere in her family tree."

"So how can you call them purebloods?" Hermione asked, truly interested. "I mean, they aren't exactly 'pure of blood'. So, are you saying that while my Cyan isn't a pureblood…"

"The family's still pureblooded," he confirmed. "It's difficult to grasp, because there isn't a distinct line between what's pureblooded and what's not. Suffice to say, that the fact that his mother is a muggleborn witch won't leave a stain on the Malfoy tree."

"He's not on your tree," she reminded him. "And he won't be."

"Granger…" he sighed again. "I can't explain this too well, but he's my heir, my only son. I need him to become part of the Malfoy family."

"And I said no," she said firmly. "I won't let you take him."

"Granger, you don't understand," he said quietly. "If I can't get Cyan into the family, then I can't have any more children. Do you understand the ramifications of this? I'll be the one solely responsible for killing off the entire Malfoy dynasty. We date back to beyond William the Conqueror," he said smugly, but turned serious again. "Please, think beyond just your world. This is beyond your dislike of me; this is the end of a family older than anything you can imagine."

Hermione sat quietly, playing with a tassel on a pillow. "Malfoy," she said finally, "I understand your dilemma. I can even agree, to a certain point, but can't you see? I _can't_ give up my baby. I just can't. I won't."

"But Granger," he said eagerly, leaning forward to grasp her hand, "you won't have to! Listen, I've got it all worked out. You can come visit him anytime you like. Anytime! He just has to live with me. You'll still be his mother."

Hermione snorted, pulling her hand away. "Tell me you're joking, Malfoy," she said with a roll of her eyes. "_'You can come visit him anytime you like,'_" she mimicked. "Again, I repeat, I won't give him up. Allowing him to live with you constitutes as giving him up."

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, and Hermione watched the strands fall into the exact same places as they had been in before. "I didn't think you'd like that," he mumbled. "Okay, how about this? You can _live_ in Malfoy Manor, with Cyan. It's certainly large enough; I'll even give you your own wing!"

She shook her head again. "I'm not that kind of person," she said quietly. "Not only does it give out certain… _unfounded_ clues, but I just don't think I can handle it. That everyone will know that I… that you… that we had a kid together."

"They'll have to know sometime," he told her quietly. "You know that. You can't keep that Glamour charm on him forever."

"I know," she said softly. "I know."

"But I know what you mean," He continued. "The stigma."

She looked up sharply. "Exactly."

"And that's why I have the third option." Malfoy grimaced. "I have a feeling you won't like this any more than I do… but I'm desperate, Granger, I really am. I need Cyan. We can just tell people… tell them that we've been married this whole time."

Hermione blanched. "_What_?" She demanded. "No. Way."

"It's the best idea that I could come up with," he insisted. "It sounds crazy. I know. But hear me out. We'll tell people that we got married, quietly, four years ago. But soon after, we had a huge fight, and you left me, not knowing that you were pregnant at the time. But we've reconciled, and you're moving back in."

"There are so many holes in that story, I could use it as a sieve," she said flatly. "It'll never work."

"Yes it will," he said confidently. "We'll just play it up, so people won't think to look for holes. They'll just snigger at me for losing my wife- but that's worth it, if I can get the kid."

"You're crazy," Hermione told him, in all seriousness. "An absolute nutcase."

"Trust me," he said. "Get Potter on your side; the world still adores him. My parents will back us up; nobody will contradict the Malfoy family," he predicted confidently. "It's the solution to our problems! I'll marry you, you'll be situated comfortably, Cyan will have a father and a mother, I'll have my heir, and you won't have to put up with negative whispering and rumors."

"You're an idealist," Hermione said with a short laugh. "Let's be realistic, Malfoy. What you're proposing, will just _fuel_ the press. I'll never get a moment of peace, Cyan will be stared at everywhere we go, I'll have to put up with _you_…"

"Hey," Malfoy protested, "I'll have you know that every witch in the world would love to marry me. I'm rich, handsome, intelligent…"

"Modest, humble…" Hermione infused under her breath, before continuing. "So tell me, Malfoy, say that I accept your … proposal. What do I get out of it?"

He looked satisfied. "Now you're talking," he said happily. "You'll get the security of the Malfoy name, of course, as well as unlimited access to the Malfoy vaults in Gringotts."

She looked unconvinced. "However, I have no need of the Malfoy name, as people still remember Hermione Granger as the girl who defeated Voldemort along with Harry Potter; I have just as much credibility as you do. I don't need your money, because I have more than enough as it is, with my job."

Malfoy looked slightly upset, but continued. "You'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you did the right thing?" he offered. "I know that's a big thing with you Gryffindors. How could you live with yourself, knowing that you killed off the entire Malfoy line because of your stubbornness?"

"Ooh, that's a good one," Hermione admitted with a small smile, "and very Slytherin of you, to try and use guilt into manipulating me into doing what you want. But, I regret to say, not good enough to sentence me to a lifetime of your company."

He looked downright harassed by this time. "Well…" he thought for a minute, and smiled triumphantly. "Once you take the Glamour charm off, it'll be obvious just whose child Cyan is. Can you imagine how people would treat him, knowing that he is an illegitimate child? He would be scorned, Granger, and ridiculed. He's my son- he has a high chance of getting sorted into Slytherin. The Slytherins would eat him alive, Granger, you know that."

Hermione paled as she realized that he was right. Cyan _would_ be harassed, and bullied, and generally made miserable. She couldn't let that happen; having spent four years protecting him, the mere hint of his future sent her into fits of panic. Was ensuring his future worth spending a lifetime with Malfoy?

"Granger, I'll treat him _and_ you well," Malfoy was saying. "I'll be a good husband. I won't even sleep around! And I'd never hit him, nor you. So you needn't worry on that account. I'll provide for everything… "

Of course it was. Hermione hadn't been lying when she'd told Malfoy that she would have died to keep her son well- and subjecting him to emotional and mental abuse was not keeping him well.

"Granger…"

"You'd better call me Hermione," she said shortly. "Husbands don't call their wives by their last names."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone for being so patient. I'm really sorry that I didn't update for a month (if you looked on my profile, I explained why, but in any case, it was because of finals and SATs). I hope to get back into a regular updating schedule soon! Please review.

**Note: In response to Vashka's review.**

-I dislike writing lisps, or any other speech impediment, to tell you the truth. I suppose that's why it wasn't very well done. But I've got plans for Cyan's lisp, and it should be gone within the next couple of chapters. (Thank god for that)

_-i.e. Why do the Black sisters (Bellatrix, Narcissa & Andromeda) all look different? Or... What if Zabini and Ginny had kids?_  
That will be explained in the subsequent chapters as well!

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far.**


	6. Convictions and Promises

**Chapter 6**

She was going to _murder_ the person pounding on the door. Hermione had been ignoring the knocking for a few minutes, hoping that whoever it was would give up and leave, but the knocking didn't cease; if anything, it seemed to be growing more frantic.

With a growl of frustration, she gave up on deciphering the latest runes that Gringotts had sent her, slamming her quill down on the desktop before rising. She'd completely lost her train of thought, and it would take ages to get that back… Hermione huffed, but started toward the front door. She might as well get rid of whoever that was, she supposed.

An enormous yawn stretched her jaws, and Hermione belatedly realized that she'd stayed up all night, consumed by her work. It hadn't been her first time, though, and although she had tried, sleep had been elusive that night… It must have been the fight with Malfoy that had her so exhausted, Hermione thought, or the heavy decision that she'd had to make. At least Cyan's safety wasn't going to be a huge problem now and a huge load off her shoulders and onto Malfoy's considerably stronger and wider—Hermione hastily changed that to _paler_—shoulders. Though she couldn't explain the dread that seemed firmly wedged in her lower stomach.

"Who is it?" she asked, irritated.

"It's Lavender!" A cheery voice called back, followed with a slightly muffled "And Parvati!"

Hermione's annoyance abated just a little. Lavender and Parvati? She hadn't seen them since she'd moved out of the old flat, years ago. What could they possibly want? They certainly didn't… move in the same circles, anymore. She didn't, Hermione thought with a wry chuckle, move in circles at all, really.

Hermione undid the warding at the front door, all the while engaging in a futile attempt to tuck her hair behind her ears. No doubt Lavender and Parvati would be horrified to see a haphazard Hermione Granger… she chuckled softly before pulling open the door. Definitely not a new sight for the two.

"Hi—" she tried to say, but her greeting was drowned in a pool of squeals and hugs and giggles. Hermione's eyes widened as she was enveloped in a cloud of perfume and silk dress robes.

After the two finally settled down enough to sit on her couch, Hermione let herself perch on the set across from them, and eyed them warily. "Dressed already," she noted curiously. "Big day?"

Lavender and Parvati exchanged amused glances. "No, we haven't quite turned in yet," Parvati said with a small smile. "We were just at a party; Frances Doughlin just turned thirty, so she had a smashing party—"

"Frances is Zoë's sister," Lavender explained, seeing Hermione's blank face.

Hermione nodded. Even _she_ knew of Zoë, the Editor-in-Chief of _Witch Weekly _and the brand new and madly popular host on the eleven o'clock slot on the Wizard Wireless Network. She'd listened to—or left the wireless on, she amended hastily—Zoë's show while she was working at home, and she had to admit that it was rather fun, in a brainless sort of way.

Parvati nodded. "Of course she is," she agreed. "So anyway, of course Zoë was there, and we were just chatting about good old Hogwarts when I happened to mention that you and Lavender and I used to dorm together!"

"And Zoë was _so_ interested," Lavender continued, "and even more so when she heard that you and I were flatmates after graduation, too."

Hermione thought that her eyes had probably narrowed, because Lavender looked confused. "Sorry, did I offend you?" she asked, puzzled.

She shook her head a no, but Parvati laughed. "I know, you're probably wondering, _why would anyone like Zoë wonder about little old me_, right?"

"Quite," Hermione murmured.

"But as we kept chatting," Lavender reverted back to her story, "she happened to mention that a _very_ interesting piece of news would be revealed on today's show!" She had a smugly satisfied look pasted on her face, and sat back demurely with her hands folded in her lap.

Hermione tried to look enthused, but failed miserably. She had absolutely no interest in the going-alongs of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, let alone Zoë Whatever-her-surname-was. "How lovely for her," she said politely. "I'll look forward to hearing that. If that's all…"

"Oh no, no," Lavender chuckled. "Don't think you're getting off this easily! I can't _believe_ you've kept this under wraps for so long!"

"Yes," Parvati chimed in, leaning forward and fixing her dark eyes on Hermione's. "You must tell all! We came as soon as we heard, and really, Hermione, I'm _dying_ to know! After all, we _are_ your dormmates…"

"Dying to know _what_, exactly?" Hermione asked slowly, suspicion that had been held bay now slowly dawning on her. Surely, Malfoy wouldn't have gone behind her back to announce their … marriage to everybody already? Surely, he must have had at least _some_ thought and consideration for her, and for everyone else… and surely, he would have at least _warned_ her so she'd be prepared, and maybe even lay some groundwork before?

"Why, you and Draco Malfoy, of course!"

Hermione couldn't keep a groan from slipping. Who was she trying to kid? Of course Malfoy wouldn't have any consideration for her… after he'd gotten what he wanted, why would he concern himself any further with her wishes? But _why_ would he tell somebody like Zoë, whose career was made of passing on gossip?

She must have spoken aloud, because Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks. "But Draco and Zoë are great friends," Lavender said, with some surprise. "Why, they even had a—" She stopped, glaring at Parvati who had shoved an elbow into her side. "Parvati! What—" she broke off when Parvati sent a knowing and quite obvious glance pointed to Hermione. "Oh. _Oh_. Erm, though they were strictly platonic! Don't worry, Hermione, your-" she coughed, "-your husband was, um…" she sputtered to an uncertain stop, realizing that whatever had non-platonically brewed between Draco Malfoy and Zoë—yes, Hermione wasn't so stupid as to miss that—had been during the supposed duration of her marriage to Malfoy.

Lavender looked mortified at her gaffe, and Parvati didn't look like she wanted to broach the awkward silence that followed, either. Hermione, of course, wasn't going to say anything. Yet.

Finally, Lavender coughed. "Wow, um, look at the time!" She exclaimed, looking at anywhere but Hermione, who, despite everything, was amused. Especially considering the clock was behind Lavender's head. "I've got a, um, an appointment. In ten minutes. Got to go! Bye, Hermione! You've got a lovely flat by the way."

She and Parvati cleared out in record time, and Hermione sat back down slowly, mind whirling. If those two knew, then she was sure that everybody in the entire wizarding world would know… she wondered what exactly Zoë had been to Malfoy.

And why she cared.

* * *

"_So, ladies, that's another bachelor firmly out of the game. What with Harry Potter engaged to marry, Blaise Zabini rather firmly adhered to the side of Daphne Greengrass, and Adrian Pucey tying the knot in just one week… although those men certainly didn't… what was it again? Oh yes, ignore their marriage for five years because of a row_." A chuckle. _"Well, nevertheless, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger; who would have thought? Certainly seems unbelievable, though I don't try to understand playboys or heroines. I'm just a simple girl at heart…_" Another laugh. _"For more details on the secret marriage, Witch Weekly will be featuring an exclusive interview with the bride and groom—oh, not that any longer, right?—the married couple in its next issue, hitting the floos this Saturday! This has been Zoë Turpin, on the WWN._"

Narcissa Malfoy flicked her wand at the wireless, which went abruptly silent. Zoë Turpin hadn't been a Slytherin for nothing, and it was quite evident that she was feeling very, very scorned.

"Rather dangerous," Narcissa Malfoy murmured. She sat quietly for a minute, lost in her thoughts, lost in what she had just heard. "Although," she said out loud, "I'd rather Draco have told me this before the whole world."

Footsteps passing by the sitting room paused, as her son poked his head in. "Did I hear my name, mother?" He inquired carelessly. "Can I order you anything?"

Narcissa gazed at him, before nodding to the seat across from the one she was occupying. "Yes. Sit."

Her son collapsed onto the delicately upholstered sofa, letting his head fall back. His feet landed with a dull thud on the glass of the coffee table, just as he snapped a finger. "Tea," he ordered the house elf that appeared lazily. The elf, clad neatly in a white pillowcase embroidered with the Malfoy family crest, bowed and made to disapparate before being halted by Narcissa.

"Wait," she commanded. "Not tea; something stronger. Wine. A glass of the Bordeaux. And Draco, darling," she added snappily, "feet off the table."

The elf bowed and disappeared, before reappearing immediately with a glass of Narcissa's favourite wine in hand. She took a liberal sip as her son let his feet fall off. He sat up instead, looking slightly surprised. "Alcohol before five o'clock, Mother?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice. "Whatever brought this on?"

She gave him a sharp look. "Zoë Turpin," she said calmly.

"Ah." Draco relaxed again, and met her eyes steadily. "And what did our mutual friend have to say that induced such a breach of the norm, Mother?"

"Zoë found it extremely interesting and… oh, what was the word she used? Oh yes, _unbelievable_… that you and Hermione Granger had been married for the last five years."

Draco laughed lightly. "Jealousy," he explained with a shrug. "What can I say?"

"And the rest of the public?" Narcissa inquired. "How will they take this… sudden news?"

Her son smiled—slowly, slyly. "I don't know, Mother," he said. "How _will_ the public take this?"

And despite her current displeasure with her son, Narcissa couldn't stop her lips from creeping into a matching smile. Zoë Turpin had been a Slytherin, it was true; the blatant vindictiveness and displeasure over her rival would, however, cause certain _Gryffindor_ traits to surface. She would be a match for Narcissa Black Malfoy, but she did, Narcissa reflected, enjoy a good challenge once in a while. Merlin knew, most others were plebeians.

XXXXX

Narcissa wasted no time in beginning to level the playing field. She was rather at a disadvantage, from Draco's failure to inform her of the tide before blabbing to Zoë Turpin, of all people, but she certainly had access to more vistas than the Turpin girl did—and she was not above pulling rank.

"Narcissa, darling, is it true?" Carlotta Parkinson finally asked the question that had been hanging heavily in the air. The other women in the room visibly tensed in anticipation; they had all obviously been burning with curiosity and, at the same time, hadn't had the courage to broach the subject. "Has dear Draco really been married to that Granger girl for the last five years?"

Narcissa calmly took a sip from her cup, before placing it silently on the saucer. "But of course," she said with a delicately raised eyebrow.

"But how—why would—I mean—" Carlotta floundered, looking around the room for help.

Isabella Zabini came neatly to the rescue. "What Carlotta means," she interposed smoothly, "is that it was _such_ a surprise. Why, even Blaise wasn't aware, and he and Draco have been close friends since their Hogwarts days." She looked into her cup and swirled it lightly, before meeting Narcissa's gaze expectantly.

"Draco and Hermione wished to keep their relationship under wraps until they were ready to divulge it to the public," Narcissa said with a smile. "So, of course, I respected their wishes."

Celia Avery, who hadn't spoken beyond greetings the whole day, opened her mouth. Narcissa immediately suppressed a silent groan, for there was nothing Celia liked better to do, than to instigate. "I understand," she said, unsmiling, "that the girl is a Muggleborn."

Narcissa took another sip of her tea to disguise her shock. She hadn't believed that anyone would have dared to point out such a thing to her face… but then, Celia Avery always was problematic. She recovered almost instantaneously, and turned to look at Celia with a carefully cultivated mixture of surprise, disdain, and condescension.

"Celia, darling," she said pleasantly, "I find it difficult to believe that you still hold the prejudices after the defeat of the Dark Lord. Surely you must have seen that it simply isn't advantageous to hold to the old beliefs in the new order? The Malfoys have always been Slytherin, and Slytherins _adapt_. That is how we've retained our position, darling."

Like a good Slytherin, Celia Avery, _née_ Macnair, perceived the implied criticism to both herself and her family. Though she caught herself before gasping sharply, her eyes widened enough to allow Narcissa to smile privately.

Narcissa, allowing herself a quick glance over the room, saw that the rest of the women were now nodding in slow agreement. Once these women—her friends, she thought with a chuckle—were won over, Zoë Turpin and her insinuations would be null and void.

She caught the eye of Isabella, who alone was not exclaiming in agreement. They exchanged long glances, before Isabella smiled, flashing bone-white teeth for a second. Narcissa nodded back, before picking up her cup again. Isabella was easily quite the most dangerous of the women present—except herself, possibly—and Narcissa knew very well not to underestimate her.

For some reason, however, she had decided to comply. And Narcissa Black was not going to argue. Not just yet.

* * *

They apparated to the front of their flat. Hermione dug into the deep pockets of her robes with her right hand, as Cyan had a death grip on her left. He was swinging the hand that was clasped in hers, as he chattered on. "Uncle Won bought Wobert the new toy bwoom that goes _four_ metres high, Mummy, and Scotty's is still super fast! Mummy, can I have a new bwoom too? We're going to race tomorrow and Aunt Ginny said that Uncle Hawwy is going to let us use a snitch and Mummy, how come Uncle Hawwy is so good at flying?"

"Uncle Harry's daddy was very good at flying," Hermione said absently, as she fished out her wand from an inside pocket. "He inherited the trait."

Cyan was thoughtful for a minute. "What's 'herited, Mummy? Does that mean _my_ daddy was very good at flying? Because I am, you know, Mummy. I beat Wobert and he got _all_ mad except Aunt Luna gave him a lolly and then he wasn't mad anymore. Uncle Won and Uncle Hawwy are better than me but that's okay because they're bigger than me. Can you tell me about my daddy? Did _he_ beat Uncle Won? Because I beat Wobert. So he _must_ be more good than Uncle Won! Did he play Quidditch too, Mummy?"

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "Well," she said slowly, wondering what to say. Cyan had to be told _something_, and soon—now that their "marriage" was public news, he would definitely find out in some form or another.

A shape shifted in the shadows, and Hermione had to muffle a shriek of pure shock. "What—" she demanded, before stopping as Malfoy materialized from where he must have been leaning against the wall.

"Hello, Hermione," he said with a small smirk, emphasizing her name. "And this must be Cyan." He knelt, down to eye level with her son, and solemnly held out a hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

Hermione watched with trepidation as Cyan carefully studied Malfoy—no, she had to get accustomed to calling him _Draco_ now—'s face. "Hullo," he said finally. "You're that man fwom Mister Fortescue's shop."

"I am," Malfoy—_Draco_, Hermione silently amended—said seriously. "But I didn't get a chance to introduce myself then."

"Oh." Cyan was silent, before smiling beatifically at Malfoy. "Do _you_ know how to fly on a bwoom?"

"I know how to fly on a broom very well," Malfoy nodded. "I played Seeker for the Slytherin House team when I was at Hogwarts, you know. I even beat Potter—er, your Uncle Harry to the Snitch in my seventh year."

Cyan mulled over that. "Uncle Won thinks Slytherins are mean," he confided finally. "But Aunt Luna says that they're mis… mis… misunderstood," he pronounced triumphantly. "Are you, Mister Malfoy?"

Hermione could see that Malfoy clearly struggling with his reply, and simply ended up shrugging. "Some people might say so," he said finally, looking up at Hermione.

She frowned, before sighing. "Would you like to come in, Malfoy?" She asked instead.

Twin smiles broke out on the two faces before her, and Hermione had to shake her head ruefully as she undid the warding. She still disliked Draco Malfoy with an unrivaled passion, but she had to admit that _so far_ he seemed to be quite proficient with Cyan.

Although she _had_ to remember that Draco Malfoy was only exerting an effort to get along with Cyan because he knew how she felt about him. He was all too aware that she would only go along with the lie for her son; if he made Cyan uncomfortable or unhappy in any way, Hermione would have no qualms about breaking off all contact and denouncing him altogether—and Malfoy knew it.

As was customary, Cyan looked expectantly toward Hermione as they walked into the flat together. It was her cue to undo the glamour, to restore the usual visage of her son.

She did so with a practiced wave of her wand and a nonverbal _finite_. His hair was now blindingly blond, and the eyes crinkling up at her gleamed silver. His face morphed subtly from a nondescript oval shape to a more heart-shaped face, with a pointed jaw that put Draco Malfoy's first year at Hogwarts into mind. The rest of him, she noted with a wrinkle of her nose, had unfortunately not changed; he was still deploringly messy.

"Cyan, I think you need a bath," Hermione said after a moment. "Go get in the tub, okay? I'll be in in just a moment, after I deal with Mr. Malfoy here."

"Oh, Mummy, no," he protested, eyes wide. "I'm not so very dirty, see? It's all cakey anyway and it's not going to smear!"

Hermione frowned at him. She didn't understand why he had such a loathing of baths—when she was a child, she loved floating around in the tub, heaven knew, and Malfoy probably screamed in terror when a speck of dust had the audacity to land on him. Cyan scowled back, as he inevitably did whenever the words "get in the tub" appeared, but toddled off to the bathroom just the same, followed by Hermione's befuddled look.

"He's four years old, Granger," Malfoy said just then, and Hermione looked up sharply.

"What?"

"He's a four year old boy, Granger," he repeated irritably. "Of course he isn't going to want to take baths."

"How did you—" Hermione blinked, then scowled furiously. "Did you use Legilimency on me?"

"Of course not," he huffed. "Your face is too expressive; I don't know _how_ you're going to lie properly. And you know," he added thoughtfully, "you look just like Cyan when you frown like that."

"Thanks for saying that I look like a four-year old boy," Hermione muttered. "And anyway, I'll have you know that I'm _quite_ the proficient liar, should times call for it. I lied to Umbridge, didn't I? And stole from Snape, and— oh, _damn_ it." She interrupted herself furiously.

Malfoy choked on his laughter. "You _stole_ from Snape?" He gasped as red began to creep over his pale face. "You stole from _Snape_? _You_ stole from Snape?"

Hermione didn't feel the slightest inclination to help him. "Go sit down," she said with another scowl, this time toward herself. "I'm going to have to give Cyan a quick bath." And be drenched for her efforts, no doubt. He was rather exuberant once she finally got him into the tub.

"You do that," Malfoy said idly.

"I don't suppose you want to help?" Hermione inquired as she turned to leave.

The deadpan look he shot her was the only answer she got, and she wasn't surprised one bit at all.

XXXXX

"Nice look," Malfoy said dryly as Hermione walked back into the sitting room, drenched head to toe in water, accompanied by a perfectly dry Cyan, dressed in a sweatsuit decorated with seven zooming broomsticks and a flying snitch.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she flicked a drying spell at herself. He was sprawled on her couch comfortably, a glass of something that looked suspiciously like cognac or brandy dangling from his fingers. "Sure, Malfoy, make yourself at home," she said sarcastically as she sat on the sofa opposing him, Cyan settled in next to her.

Malfoy ignored her comment and instead sat up, leaning forward. "We need to plan our strategy," he said instead.

Cyan perked up visibly at that. "I know stwategy," he bragged. "I heard all about it fwom Uncle Won!"

Hermione was a little gratified to see Malfoy's startled look. "You told Weasley already?" he said incredulously. "Without warning me?"

She could hardly believe it. "Are you _serious_?" she demanded, incensed. "You told bloody _Zoë Turpin_, whose occupation is to spread _gossip_, before warning _me_! I had Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil descend on me at five o'clock in the morning after hearing the gossip from the lips of Turpin herself!"

"It was all a part of my _strategy_, you great—er, Granger," Malfoy amended with a hasty look at Cyan's curious face, "a word that you Gryffindors wouldn't have _any_ idea of!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You obviously haven't noticed, Malfoy, but it's been years since we've graduated from Hogwarts. Houses _don't matter_ anymore."

"You _would_ think that," Malfoy said dismissively. "It's a Pureblood thing—and I don't say it in a racist way," he added upon glimpsing her slowly reddening face. "Get it through your head, Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath, and reminded herself tersely to choose her battles. "Okay," she said, teeth clenched. "All right, Malfoy. You wanted to talk strategy. So, let's talk, and then you can get out of here."

"Well," he said, a slight frown crinkling his forehead, "shouldn't we tell…" he flicked his eyes toward Cyan, who, Hermione was gratified to notice, had lost all interest in the conversation and was instead trying to capture the snitch currently racing down his left arm.

"Oh." Hermione wondered just how much Cyan ought to know. No matter how mature he acted sometimes, he _was_ still only four years old, after all—how much could he understand? "Yes. Cyan," she said, hesitating as he looked up at her expectantly.

Malfoy sat back, as if to defer to her judgment in this. Hermione, however, knew perfectly that he simply didn't want to expend the energy. With an inaudible snort, she thought for a second. "Cyan, I—that is, Mister Malfoy and I want to tell you something. Um, it might be confusing, and I don't really know how you'll take it, but I hope that you won't—"

"Just say it, Granger," Malfoy said, annoyed.

"Mister Malfoy told you that he was a Slytherin at Hogwarts," Hermione began carefully, "and you already know that I was in Gryffindor."

Her son nodded, eyes full of curiosity. He had heard a myriad of tales about their Hogwarts days from Harry and Ron, about Quidditch and horrible Professor Snape and the Fat Lady and the icky Slytherins.

"And your Uncle Ron told you that we—Harry, Ron, and I—didn't really get on with the Slytherins at school," she continued. "But after we all graduated, I ran into Mister Malfoy here, and we… we became friends, of a sort."

Malfoy hastily turned his snort into a cough at Hermione's glare.

"And we ended up getting married. But soon after, we had a big row with each other—just like when you and Robert argued when he tripped over your broom and broke it, remember?"

He nodded quietly.

"But it was much bigger than that, and Mister Malfoy and I stopped talking to one another up until now. But after we ran into each other once again, we decided to try again. So… that's it," Hermione ended lamely, looking worriedly at Cyan, who was silently looking down.

The air around them was almost tangible, and Hermione bit her lip, fighting the urge to demand that he tell her what he was thinking.

After what seemed like an hour and was probably only a minute, he looked up to Malfoy. "So he's my daddy?" Cyan asked quietly.

Hermione and Malfoy both nodded a yes.

"Oh." Cyan blinked, before looking toward, but not directly at Hermione. "I want to go to bed now, please."

"Of course," she said, startled. "Shall I come and tuck you in?"

"No thank you," he said quietly as he slid off the couch and walked slowly toward his room.

Hermione exhaled sharply as Cyan left the room. "He took it badly, didn't he?" she murmured unhappily. "I don't… should I—"

"No, leave him alone for now," Malfoy advised. "Don't push him, not right now and not just yet."

Hermione looked incredulously at him. "And since when are _you_ an expert at reading children, and namely, my son? I've raised him for the last four years, you know. Why do you care, anyway?" She immediately regretted her words, as he scoffed angrily, grey eyes so like her son's flashing with fury.

"Without my knowledge or consent," he bit out tightly. "And I _don't_ care. Only that he accepts me, so I can have my goddamn heir."

"Of course," Hermione mocked. "Nothing is more important than the future of the Malfoy family."

He sighed loudly. "Can we at least _pretend_ to get along, Granger, or are you going to bite off my head at everything?"

"Look, Malfoy, I agreed to this farce to _save_ Cyan from pain, and not to cause it," Hermione snarled. "So I'm _sorry_ seeing him like that upsets me, okay? But I have more on my mind than whether your stupid family gets your stupid heir, so get _that_ through your head!"

"What he feels now is going to be _nothing_ once he gets to Hogwarts," Malfoy hissed. "You have no idea, Granger, what it would have been like for him, Slytherin or Gryffindor or what. Not everyone was going to believe in that nonentity you made up as your husband, and you should be _grateful_—" he pushed his hand through his hair, and sighed sharply. "We went over this already. So I'd be grateful if we could get something done today."

"Agreed," Hermione said tersely.

"So now that we've reconciled…" Malfoy's wry smile referred to their supposed reconciliation after their "row", Hermione knew, and not this brittle truce. "You should really move into the Manor soon."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly. She ought to have expected this, but it had completely flown from her mind. "Fine," she conceded. "I suppose it's necessary. But I'm keeping my flat just the same, Malfoy."

He shrugged. "Whatever. So, as soon as possible would be best, I think. Mother is working on the society right now, so let's say this weekend by the latest?" At Hermione's nod, he continued. "See how easy it is when you give in, Granger?"

At her outraged look, he changed the subject hastily. "Our biggest problem is—"

"Zoë Turpin," Hermione interjected sullenly.

"The _public_," Malfoy corrected. "Which, unfortunately, includes Zoë, who was a bit… skeptical. So we really have to win them over, if they're going to believe us. We must be seen out, as a family, and be seen getting along… like a married couple. I guess."

Hermione laughed shortly, as Malfoy's lips twisted. "It's not exactly going to be a picnic for me either, Granger," he pointed out.

"Great," she said, shaking her head. "Family outings, how adorable. What do you Malfoys do for fun as a family, then? What did you and Lucius and Narcissa do? Go torture some muggles together?"

"No," he said with a smug smile. "We did not. Leave tomorrow open for our… outing. And you can move in on Saturday." He stood to leave, and Hermione was only too glad to see him go.

After he shut the front door behind him, Hermione poked her head into Cyan's room. He was lying in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin, eyes wide open and darting about here and there. She tapped on the door to get his attention. "Can I come in?" she asked quietly.

At his nod, she walked in and sat at the edge of the bed. "Would you like to talk?" she asked softly. "I know it was a shock to find out that your daddy is still alive, darling, and I am so sorry I couldn't tell you earlier. Can you forgive me?"

He was quiet for a second. "Mummy," he said carefully, "you aren't mad at me?"

"_I_?" Hermione repeated incredulously, as Cyan burrowed himself deeper into the blankets so that only the top of his head and eyes peeked out. "Why would I be mad at you, Cyan?"

"You fighted about me, didn't you?" he said dejectedly, as a small tear appeared at the corner of his eyes, before he furiously swiped an arm across his face. "That's why that Mister Malfoy left, wight? Because he was mad at me and now you might be mad at me, Mummy, because I made your husband leave and it's all my fault!"

"Oh, _Cyan_," Hermione whispered as she gathered his small body in her arms. He immediately buried his face into her shoulder as she hugged him as tightly as she could. "It wasn't your fault at _all_. Your daddy didn't know I was pregnant when we fought, baby, and our fight was between us. It wasn't your fault at all, honey, I promise."

"Then why did he leave?" he finally wailed, his words muffled against her shoulder. "I wanted a daddy so _much_, Mummy. Why did he stay away for so long—I was—I was… _jealous_ of Wobert and Scotty and _oh_, Mummy, he hates me, he must."

Hermione closed her eyes in despair. "Cyan, baby, your daddy… your daddy doesn't hate you at all," she said carefully. "That's why he came back, you know. When he found out about you, he was so upset he missed your growing up. You have a daddy, Cyan, and you have no reason to be jealous of anyone anymore."

"Pwomise?" Cyan asked, and his voice was so hopeful that Hermione's heart almost broke.

"Yes," she said softly, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "I promise."

* * *

A/N: OMG HI. Don't ever say that flattery doesn't work wonders.

Happy holidays, everyone.


	7. Magical Creatures

**Chapter 7**

She was a married woman.

Hermione was still having difficulties trying to wrap her mind around that fact, never mind that she'd been thinking—well, more like castigating herself relentlessly for getting herself caught in the first place—about that small fact ever since Malfoy had materialized in front of her door and offered his absurd proposition. She was _married_, wed, joined for life to a man that she didn't and couldn't ever love.

She hadn't even had a proper wedding.

Hermione sighed darkly. She had always—fancifully—imagined her wedding (to Ron, most often, though that traitorous part of her brain certainly died down after his wedding to Luna) to be grand, resonating with love and laughter, overflowing with family and friends.

Certainly not this.

Hermione's eyes darted around the dank chamber, which no doubt appeared even smaller due to the fact that they had only risked one candle being lit. She took in the undoubtedly heavily-bribed ministry official brought to oversee their vows. It was beyond obvious that the man would have preferred to be anywhere but there, but was equally as determined not to notice anything; his eyes flickered from the floor to the walls to the ceiling—anything but Hermione or Malfoy. The register that she and Malfoy had signed just five minutes ago was still glowing faintly with the magical residue of their vows, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that Malfoy, her—she gulped—newly-wedded husband, had been glaring darkly at the book as well.

Said husband was now staring imperiously at the ministry official. "Are we finished here, then?" he demanded to know, with a crook of his eyebrow.

The man shuffled the papers on his desk. "Well," he said with a cough, "let me just verify the signatures, then, Mr. Malfoy… it looks like everything is in order. Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Why ever would you congratulate us, sir?" Malfoy asked languidly, as though he had no care in the world, but Hermione could hardly believe that. From what she knew of Malfoy, he was at his most lethal when his voice was smoother than butter and his face like stone.

The ministry official apparently was not a dense man, for he stiffened and frowned. "I congratulate every couple that I witness, Mr. Malfoy," he said finally in a tense voice.

"Surely not those who have been married for over five years?"

At those words, the ministry official locked eyes first with Malfoy, then Hermione. She shuddered inwardly then; the eyes that held hers for a second were as obsidian black as Malfoy's were steel grey, and a thought flashed into Hermione's mind: that this man was not to be trifled with. She wondered if Malfoy knew.

After sneaking a glance at the poker-straight back and rigid set of his shoulders, stiffer than pureblood requisites required, Hermione realized that Malfoy knew perfectly well that this man could only be pushed so far and no further. She didn't know why the man had consented to authorize their marriage, but bribery was surely not the reason.

The silence was almost tangible; the official's eyes had reverted back to Malfoy's, and the two were sizing each other up like lions about to lunge at each other. Hermione was just about to mention the elephant in the corner with the lips of the man behind the desk curved slowly.

"Quite right," he said finally. "My mistake."

Malfoy nodded once, sharply. "Very good."

He grabbed a hold of her hand and began to drag her out of the room. Hermione yanked her arm free of his, and turned to look at the ministry official again. He was still staring at them, and Hermione imagined she could see a frown on his face. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir," she said sweetly.

Malfoy's hand jerked her arm inadvertently, as the other man's eyes sharpened.

"Likewise, Mrs. Malfoy," he said after a pause. "I hope you will proceed with caution. You will find that the psyche of certain families differ significantly from what constitutes as the norm."

"That is _enough_," Malfoy snarled then, before bodily picking her up and marching out of the cave-like office, despite the attack of Hermione's nails and knees.

"What are you—_stop_—what is _wrong_ with you?" Hermione demanded once they were outside the ministry. It was night, and the streets of muggle London were quite abandoned save for a patrolling policeman and a few figures off in the distance.

"Why did you speak to him? _Why did you say that?_" Malfoy's hands were gripping her shoulders more firmly than necessary, and Hermione was vaguely aware that she would have marks the next day. She could not, however, summon enough fury to twist free, not when the eyes gripping hers were that particular shade of molten silver. He looked furious enough to rip her to shreds, but behind the apparent anger were small shards of… fear?

Hermione's instincts told her not to question him about the ministry official. Not yet, not while Malfoy was acting so strangely. So she sniffed instead, breaking eye contact with a fair about of difficultly. "My mother taught me my manners," she said haughtily, all the while burning with curiosity.

He didn't look convinced, but the emotions she could see wafting about him abated somewhat. "I suppose your muggle mother is lying in bed somewhere, tickled to death about the woman you've become," he muttered, releasing her abruptly, as though he had just realized what he was doing.

"She _is_ lying somewhere, but it's underground," Hermione said shortly, turning away. As was her father. She still had trouble remembering that her parents had been targets of Voldemort's Death Eaters, before he himself had been defeated. She had been called by the Order to help a muggle family, and had had to sit down suddenly when she realized just why the street had looked so familiar.

Malfoy's legs were longer than hers, and so he caught up to her in a few long strides. His hand descended onto her shoulder again, but this time not as tenacious. He did not say anything, though, and Hermione glanced up at his face. His face, unguarded for once, was a myriad of expressions: confusion, skepticism, agitation, and something that looked surprisingly like remorse.

He cleared his throat and looked away. "I… I regret your loss," he said stiffly, and Hermione couldn't stop her left eyebrow from flaring. Was he offering her condolences? Surely, he wouldn't care that a muggle woman had died in the duration of the war. After all, so many others had.

"It's all right," she said instead, a little thickly. "It wasn't your fault."

Right after she rattled off her customary response, her forehead gathered in a frown as she replayed her words. _Wasn't it?_ She wondered with a gulp, and eyed him suspiciously. Malfoy had come to the Order some time before the downfall of Voldemort, but he had never seen fit to inform anybody about his doings _before_ coming to the Order.

Seeing her furtive look, Malfoy sighed impatiently and shoved up the left sleeve of his robe clear up to his elbow. "No mark," he snapped. "Satisfied?"

Hermione flushed darkly. "Quite," she said sharply. "I have to get back to Cyan. I left Ginny with him, but he has trouble getting back to sleep if he wakes up in the middle of the night and I'm not there."

Malfoy blinked. "Are you gone often during the middle of the night?"

Hermione blinked back. "Well, things come up," she said uncertainly, wondering if she was skating on thin ice. And why.

He scowled then. "Granger, as my wife, I expect you to keep your robes shut," he said, the breath from his mouth crackling like icicles.

She gaped, her mouth falling open in surprise and indignation, before she snapped it shut. "I—I don't—you—I was talking about _work_, you prat!" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

He looked sheepish for a second, and despite her desperate attempts to freeze her facial expression, she couldn't help but giggle at the look on his face. She shut up immediately, appalled, but Malfoy had already let out an undignified snort of laughter before taking a hold of her arm again.

They apparated.

x

Draco landed in a box.

He stumbled immediately; when he landed, the sole of his right foot was most definitely higher than that of his left, and his body tried to overcompensate—thus resulting in his fall.

He heard Granger's chortle of laughter as he dropped to his hands and knees, before managing to kick his foot free from whatever was in the cardboard. He stood quickly, smoothing his robes down with one hand and his hair with another. No doubt his robes would be wrinkled from that unpleasant venture; how in the world had he managed to apparate inside a _box_? And why had Granger had a half-filled box in her flat anyhow?

As he regained his senses, which had been just a tad jolted by the unexpected fall, he realized that his box was not the only one littering Granger's floor. Rather, the flat looked bare, as all of her furnishings and books had been thrown into the other myriad of boxes.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously. What had happened in the last four hours since he had been here? Why had she decided to tear apart her belongings?

She looked at him as though he was stupid, and Draco stared blankly back. "I'm packing," she said finally, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, right up there with "My hair is brown" and "I am smart, yes."

He wasn't sure how to reply to that at first. "Are you a muggle, or a witch?" he said after a while, blinking again. With a shake of his head—would she _ever_ grow fully accustomed to his world?—he quickly tossed in everything still on the bookcases and the occasional something into the boxes with a wave of his wand.

"Malfoy!" she cried out at seeing her beloved books thrown around haphazardly, but he was relieved to note that she finally took a leaf from his book and waved her own wand to settle everything in with more care.

She huffed. "Don't _touch_ my things, you idiot. I have to go check on Cyan and Ginny. I'll be right back." She whirled and headed off to the hallway that he'd seen the kid walk off to before.

"Is Weasley so inept that she doesn't even come out to check when she hears voices in the flat?" Draco asked, dogging her steps. "If that's the case, I'm not sure I trust her to watch my heir, Granger."

"Hermione," she said, throwing him a quick frown. "You really must get accustomed to using my name."

"Sure, er, Hermione," he said, because he didn't have anything else to say.

She threw a scornful glance at him over her shoulder. "And Cyan." Granger—no, Hermione narrowed her eyes. "His name is Cyan, Malfoy, and he is a _person_, not just an heir for the illustrious Malfoy family."

He didn't know why she cared so. Their deal hadn't included anything about his being a _father_— Draco scoffed to himself at the thought. Did Granger—_Hermione_; he really had to get into the habit of calling her by her name— did Hermione expect him to take little Cyan out to the Quidditch field to play keeper to his chaser? Did— Draco coughed, but the name did come easier now— Hermione think that he would pull the boy into his arms at night for a bedtime story?

He wondered what charm she'd cast on herself. He simply wasn't _father_ material, and Hermione of all people ought to have known that. If it hadn't been for the family, he didn't think he would ever even have had any—

"Draco! Come in here, please," Hermione's voice called him from another room, and Draco started, both at hearing his name— his _given_ name— on her lips, and hearing the words "please" from Hermione Bloody-Golden-Trio Granger directed at _him_, Evil Malfoy Slytherin. "Draco!"

Now, he thought, her voice was tensed with annoyance and irritation, thinly veiled. He wondered briefly why she even bothered to hide her feelings toward him— Merlin knew she hadn't had any qualms before about telling him exactly how she felt—before remembering that she'd gone to check on the kid. No doubt he was in there with her now.

He didn't know why he was so apprehensive about seeing the kid again. After all, he'd already spoken to him before, on more than one occasion.

It came to him in a flash that it might have been because this was the first time he would face the boy as a father. The kid would look at him, Draco Malfoy, and see the same austere features, so hard they were almost cut from stone, that he himself had seen in Lucius. He would feel the same cold emancipating from him, as he had felt from Lucius.

He frowned at the niggling feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"_Draco_!"

Granger, he thought, sounded infuriated enough to just about burst a blood vessel. With a heavy sigh, he trudged into the room to see Granger standing, hands on her hips, shooting lighting bolts at him with her eyes. The kid, on the other hand, was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, a well-thumbed copy of _The Little Niffler That Could_ perched open on his lap. He was peering curiously at Draco, with not a trace of the fear or dread that Draco himself had felt upon hearing Lucius's footsteps in the corridor.

Never mind his great epiphany, then.

"Hi again," he said finally, hastily glancing at, then away from Granger's extremely irritated visage. "I'm, uh…"

"You're my daddy," the boy interjected into the pause.

"I am," Draco was at a loss as to what he ought to have said. The boy's glamour had been dissipated, and he looked eerily like Draco had at four years of age.

That was, his features were identical to his own, Draco amended upon seeing the tiny smile gracing his lips. He certainly hadn't smiled so much when he was a child.

They stared blankly at each other for a second, until the boy—Cyan, Draco reminded himself firmly—glanced down at the book open in front of him. The Little Niffler That Could was dozing by his friend, the Hippogriff, and Cyan poked at the two to wake them up.

"I could read to you," Draco heard himself offer, and saw to some surprise that though his face perked up, his eyes remained wary. He was learning to dissemble already; already thoroughly a Malfoy.

"Thank you," he said politely, "but Mummy's already wead this story to me loads of times before."

She would have. No surprise that Hermione Granger, Gryffindor extraordinaire, would pick the drippiest of the children's books to read—no, lecture—to her child.

This was clearly an emergency. Had Granger had just a little more time with the kid, she could have turned him into a Gryffindor. A Malfoy! In Gryffindor!

Thank Merlin he'd found Cyan when he had.

"Didn't your Mummy tell you that everybody brings different perspectives to a story?" he asked finally.

Cyan looked thoughtful. "What's a persperective, um…" his nose—Grecian, Draco noted rather proudly, from the illustrious Malfoy line—wrinkled.

"Cyan, he is your father," Granger pointed out when the pause dragged on. "Why don't you just call him that?"

He squirmed. "Wobert doesn't call Uncle Won 'father.' He says 'daddy'. And I call you mummy, Mummy. And Scotty—"

"You can call me Daddy," Draco interrupted. "I don't mind."

Cyan nodded agreeably. "Okay. What is persperective?"

He still had to get accustomed to being somebody's father, Draco thought, because his stomach gave a funny jolt.

Perhaps it had been the dinner.

"Well," Draco began, "it's like… look at your book. What do you see?"

"I see Nat the Niffler, and Hawold the Haiwy Hippogwiff. They're sitting under the twee because it's weally sunny outside and Nat is asleep and Hawold is looking at the twee and there are one, two, thwee, four, five, _six_ red apples and one, two thwee, four gween apples and one has a worm and the worm is _pink_ and Nat is bwown with black spots and Hawold is black with bwown spots and—"

"Okay," Draco said hastily. "Well, when _I_ look at your book, I see the big tree and, uh, Harold the Hairy Hippogriff, but I can't see the sun or Nat the Niffler or any of the apples or the worm—"

Cyan fiddled with the corner of the page. "I made up the worms," he admitted unabashedly. "The apples were lonely. Like houses with no people inside."

"Oh." Draco was startled. "I'm sure the apples appreciate your thoughtfulness. In any case, what I can see of the book and what you can see of the book is different because where we are and the angle we're looking at is different. And that's called perspective. Does that make sense?"

"No."

Granger snorted. With a harried look thrown in her direction, Draco took a cautious step toward Cyan. "Oh," he thought for a second. "Well, I could read you the story. And then we could talk about it."

"Talk about persperective?"

"If you want."

"Okay."

Draco pulled a child-sized chair to the side of the bed and took the book from Cyan's lap. Narcissa had loved to read him books when he was younger, though she'd had an aversion to this particular book-- she had said that it was a horribly Hufflepuff sort of story.

"All right," he said, opening the book to the first page and propping it up where Cyan could see the illustrations.

"Once upon a time, there was a herd of hippogriffs raised in a paddock," he began, pointing out the stamping herd on the page.

"Like Buckbeak!" Cyan chimed in.

He had to hold back a snort, remembering that particular hippogriff. Good riddance.

"Yes, like Buckbeak," he said patiently instead. "Anyway, one day, the Keeper of the Hippogriffs—"

"Like Hagweed!"

"Yes, like Hagrid. The Keeper fell off a hippogriff while training them and broke his leg. Because he was hurt, he couldn't lead his herd to the river so that they could drink water."

"But why didn't he just magic it good? When _I_ get hurt, Mummy makes me better real fast. How come the Keeper didn't do that?"

"Well, Cyan, when the Keeper got hurt, he was outside, in the forest. Where do you suppose his wand was?" Draco didn't notice Granger's small smile, or her silent exit from the room.

Cyan, on the other hand, was obviously thinking furiously, his face screwed up for a minute. "In his house?" he hazarded after a moment.

"Yes. That's why he couldn't heal it. So the Keeper asked his pet nifflers to help get the hippogriffs to water. But the biggest niffler said, 'But the hippogriffs are so much bigger than me! They could chew me up in one bite!'"

"He's a _coward_," Cyan said, a gleeful smile on his face.

Oh, holy Slytherin. The boy was a Gryffindor. He had to fix the damage that Granger had done already. "Well, Cyan, sometimes, it is better to be a coward and live, than be brave and die."

The boy looked skeptical. "Weally?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly. "When Harry Potter was fighting the Dark Lord—"

"Who's the Dark Lord?" he interrupted curiously. "How come he's a lord? Can _I_ be a lord? Can I be the lord of bwoomsticks? Then I would be like the _king_ of bwoomsticks. Even Wobert's!"

"Wo—no, Robert Weasley?" Draco demanded. "He has a better broomstick than you?"

Cyan looked mutinous. "Yes," he said with a pout. "Mummy says my bwoomstick is perfectly good. But I don't want good! I want the _best_!"

Draco smiled smugly. "I'll buy you the best broomstick, kiddo. Better than any Weasley's."

He looked surprised. "Weally?"

"Yes, of course," he said with a blink. "No Malfoy is ever overtaken by a Weasley!"

Cyan smiled beatifically. "Thank you," he said. "I've never had a pwesent fwom a daddy before."

"You're welcome," Draco said, and wondered briefly if he and his son had just… had a moment. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Let's get back to the story, shall we?

"Then the Keeper asked the next biggest niffler to lead the hippogriffs to water, but that niffler had the same excuse. Then, the Keeper in desperation, asked the littlest niffler to lead the hippogriffs to water. 'I think I can,' he squeaked as he hopped over to the front of the herd. And as he half-dragged them to the river—for the hippogriffs were unruly and overexcited, and not at all impressed at being led by such a small creature—he kept reminding himself, 'I think I can! I think I can! I think I can!'"

"And _then_," Cyan continued, "the hippogwiffs saw the apples in the twee and they wanted to eat it all!"

"Yes, that's right," Draco said approvingly. "The hippogriffs decided they were hungry and tried to go to the apple trees. But the littlest niffler continued to drag the herd to the river, puffing all the while, "I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can!"

"And finally, they made it to the river. And the littlest niffler dropped the reigns as the hippogriffs all rushed to the water, and crowed to himself gleefully, "I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could!"

"The end!" Cyan added.

"Did you like the story?" Draco asked curiously. He hadn't thought much of the smallest niffler himself.

"I like the pictures," he informed Draco. "But the little niffler was kind of stupid to do something that could have killed him. If Hawold the Hippogwiff didn't make the other hippogwiffs listen to him then the other hippogwiffs could have eated Nat the niffler and then he would be dead."

Wouldn't Granger have a coronary upon hearing this? Draco grinned. "Excellent point," he praised enthusiastically. "Always look out for yourself before others, Cyan. Now, it's late and you'd better get to sleep."

"I don't wanna," he said unhappily. "You're going to disappear again, I know it."

Startled, Draco stared at Cyan, who was frowning back at him. "No, I'm not," he said after a second.

"Pwomise," Cyan demanded, his voice quivering just the tiniest bit.

"I promise," Draco nodded, unknowingly repeating Hermione and Cyan's exchange from the night before. "And besides, little man, you need to go to sleep. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"What?" Cyan looked interested. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Now, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

He thought. "I like surpwises," he admitted. "But only good ones."

"You'll love it," Draco said, confident. "It'll come faster if you sleep now."

Cyan obligingly burrowing himself into his covers, which Draco tucked under his chin. "Um, good night," he said, a little awkward. Lucius hadn't ever tucked him into bed, and he certainly couldn't emulate Narcissa, who was… a woman.

The boy looked up at him expectantly. "Mummy always kisses me good night," he pointed out.

"Oh." Draco leaned down, suddenly unsure, and brushed his lips against Cyan's forehead. "Night."

"Night, daddy," Cyan said softly, and as the lights magic'ed themselves dark, Draco didn't miss the cautious glance in his face.

* * *

"But where are we going?" Cyan asked for the millionth time, clutching onto Hermione's hand with his right hand and Draco's with his left. 

Hermione smoothed down his hair, slightly mussed and in his natural blindingly-blond state. It was to be their first outing as a family, and Hermione and Draco were both understandingly nervous. Cyan, however, didn't seem to be afflicted by this problem at all, as he had been chattering on all morning about new broomsticks and Quidditch and candy.

"I'll give you a hint," Draco offered as he rummaged around Hermione's mantle for floo powder. "We're going to meet your friends, Nat the Niffler and Harold the Hippogriff."

Cyan's already-big eyes widened, and his little mouth dropped open. "They're _weal_?" he gasped. "Is evewything in books weal? Can I meet the dwagon in 'Duffy's Big Tail'? Can I? Pwease?"

"We'll see," Hermione said helplessly, glaring at Draco over Cyan's head. He shrugged in response.

Finally finding the Floo powder, Draco tossed in a pinch as the three stepped closer to the fire. "Carmichael's!" he called out.

They whirled out to a bustling platform filled parents chasing after bounding children, looking hassled. The din in the platform was almost unbearable, with the shrieking of the children and the adults calling helplessly after their progeny.

"Wow!" Cyan exclaimed.

"Hardly a Death Eaters Convention," Draco murmured to Hermione as she gaped.

Recovering, she quirked her lips and whispered back, "Where are we, anyway?"

"Jack Carmichael's Menagerie for Magical Creatures," he explained. "Very popular with the children. We came here every year when I was young. This is just the Floo exit—they get a lot of traffic, as you can imagine."

"It doesn't look horribly popular with the adults," Hermione noted. "Not too excited about seeing hippogriffs, are they?" The people around them were paying absolutely no attention to them, the Malfoy family, Hermione remembered with a snort. They were too busy trying to subdue their own children, who were very obviously excited – understatement of the year – about seeing the magical creatures.

"Excellent choice of outing, I know," Draco whispered to her with a smug smile.

Hermione stared back. "How did you—"

"Your face," he reminded her. "Shall we?" He gestured to the entrance, brimming with more people.

"Yes, lets," Hermione looked down at Cyan, who was gazing around wondrously.

"Look, Mummy!" he exclaimed, tugging at her hand. "There's a picture of a hippogwiff right there! And it says, um, 'hi-hippogwiffs this way'!" He danced. "Let's go!"

She chuckled.

X

She wasn't, Hermione thought, smiling anymore. She was just scraping the bottom of her stored supply of energy, just managing to stay upright. Draco's eyelids were dropping and he looked as though he was ready to lay down for a nap, but Cyan was still going strong.

"And I want to see the cobwas, Mummy, and the king! Hey, Daddy, weren't the hippogwiffs so amazing? Hawold waved at me, didn't he! With his wing! And then the dwagons, I've never seen a dwagon before and then Mummy are there gwiffins here? Because the snakes are _so _bwilliant but maybe that's because my daddy is a Slythewin and you're a Gwiffindor so I want to see a gwiffin, Mummy. And then can I have some everwasting sugar pops, Mummy? And some of the—"

"No more candy," Hermione said firmly, glaring at Draco, who had brought a bag full of sugar for Cyan.

He stared helplessly back, quite obviously out of his depths with the child. His hair was messy, looking more like Cyan's than ever, the collar on his shirt was askew, and he had a smear of chocolate on his arm where Cyan had brushed after gobbling up some of Honeyduke's best.

With a giggle, Hermione stood from where they had been recovering. "The cobras, you said?" she asked Cyan, who nodded enthusiastically. Draco looked slightly more interested, no doubt because they were going to see his house mascot, and so he stood when Cyan grabbed his hand.

They were ready to march off to the snake house when a feminine voice called his name.

"Draco Malfoy, is that you?"

* * *

A/N: Hi! I want to thank you all for your lovely responses from the last chapter. Yes, I'm back (dances), and yes, I will continue writing this. I write fanfiction for _you_, so I'm always gratified to see that people are enjoying my writing! 

After finding numerous notes scribbled on my physics homework pages about Cyan and Draco and Hermione, I've decided to use a journal purely for the purpose of jotting notes and adding chapters for my fanfics (well, fanfic). It is amoreau at and a link is in my profile (under website). Don't worry, you aren't at all obliged to friend it or anything like that.

If you've asked any questions regarding the story, I will answer them on my journal as to not clutter up the actual chapters. So please check that out if you are so inclined.


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